


The Good Master

by PeacefulCompassion



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abused Harry, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Friendship/Love, Gen, Physical Abuse, Slow Romance, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-07-07 06:08:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 18
Words: 78,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15902427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeacefulCompassion/pseuds/PeacefulCompassion
Summary: Harry didn't have the authority of the Ministry. He didn't have the reputation of the Dark Lord. He didn't have the influence of Lucius Malfoy. At heart, he was a simple tailor. "But anyone who had heard of Harry Potter knew that he was more than just a simple tailor. He was a good master." Abused, wise-beyond-years Harry.





	1. Voldemort's Offer

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Please read my profile. Please take note of the warnings. My writing style, I've been told, is very atypical for fanfiction writers.

Privet Drive was quiet. Too quiet for the events that were taking place at Number Four.

Harry's hands clenched against the wall, his tiny frame, small even for an eight-year-old, trembling. A crack sounded through the air.

Harry's back arched. However, he bit his lower lip to prevent himself from crying out, his eyes shut tight in pain as another red stripe was added to his back. His muscles were tight as he let out a small gasp. Tears escaped down his cheeks.

Silence was a large part of Harry's life. It was what the Dursleys drilled into him. When facing pain, which he did on a daily basis, he gritted his teeth and bore it. Else, the torture would only get worse. Much, much worse, which he learned from experience.

His breaths were coming out in short pants, and he leaned his head against the wall, feeling the world spin slightly. He struggled not to collapse or lose consciousness. If he did, his uncle would most certainly carry out his threat of doubling his punishment upon his awakening. A warm liquid was trickling down his back and sides.

"Worthless boy!" spat Vernon as he pulled his arm back for another lash, his hand on the handle of a thin switch.

Harry had heard that every day of his life, and he had accepted it. He was a stupid, worthless freak. He tried his best in everything he did, but it amounted to nothing. His grades were meaningless. His efforts were meaningless. Sometimes he wondered if his life was meaningless as well. His knees nearly collapsed underneath him when his uncle lashed the back of his legs.

"We're done, boy. Do you have something to say?" Vernon snarled.

Harry slid down to his knees and lowered his head, saying demurely, "Thank you, Sir, for punishing me and teaching me my place. It was nothing less than what I deserve."

"Good." His uncle went away then, looking significantly happier than he had a half an hour ago when his face turned purple with rage at Harry breaking a coffee mug.

Harry couldn't explain how he had broken it. He had been stressed about things going on at school, but that didn't explain how the entire mug shattered when he had only been holding the handle. It got his uncle into a flying rage. He stood up unsteadily to go to the bathroom. It was a routine for him now to treat his wounds.

His reflection in the bathroom mirror would scare and invoke the compassion and sympathy of anyone who happened to see it – anyone except the Dursleys of course. His dark, messy hair was dripping with sweat from him undergoing his punishment, and his back was a pattern of crisscrossed bloody stripes. His pale skin stretched over his bones, and his hollow cheeks made his thin face appear even thinner. His green eyes were lifeless and dull. Life had not been kind on the child.

Harry was quick to wrap up his wounds. It was a small respite for him that the Dursleys did not begrudge him their store of bandages. Although this was most likely due to his aunt's disgust at bodily fluids dripping onto her precious floors.

When he came out of the bathroom, his aunt immediately set him to the task of weeding the garden. "And don't you dare pull out anything other than the weeds," she warned.

In the late spring afternoon, despite the heat, Harry found weeding relaxing – it gave him a chance to get out of the house, away from his relatives. However, his respite was about to be interrupted.

"Kick it again! Kick it again!"

Harry looked up, his eyes searching for the source of the yelling. On the other side of the road, Dudley and his group of bullies were laughing, which was never a good sign _._ Harry pulled off his glasses and wiped the dirt off them before putting them on again. What he saw pulled at his heartstrings.

Dudley was kicking a fallen puppy.

Harry turned away, feeling guilt as he did so. He didn't want to get in Dudley's way if he could avoid it.

"It's so stupid!"

"It won't be so stupid after this! Teach it a lesson, Dud!"

"Yeah, teach it a lesson!"

Harry winced when he heard the puppy yelped after a particularly hard kick from Dudley. How many times had he been in that puppy's place? With no one standing up for him? How many times had he hoped for relief from the torment and received none because no one stepped in? Why was he feeling so guilty over this? No one ever stood up for him - why should he care that another was being hurt?

"Hey, we should whack it with sticks!"

"My brother has a cricket bat," Malcolm suggested.

"Go get it then!"

Harry widened his eyes in horror at the escalation in cruelty. It was practically suicide for him if he tried to stop Dudley, but when he saw Malcolm returning with the cricket bat, all thoughts of self-preservation flew from his mind.

Dudley tested the weight of the bat in his hands. It was rather unwieldy for an eight-year-old, but when it came to cruelty, Dudley could do anything he set his mind to.

With concern for the puppy coursing through his veins, Harry sprinted across the road. He burst through the circle around the puppy, surprising Piers and Malcolm, and stood in front of the animal, his thin arms outstretched. "Please don't hurt it!" he cried, even as he quivered in fear of his cousin. "It didn't do anything to you!"

All of them were startled before Dudley pulled himself together and shoved his smaller cousin aside roughly. "Out of the way, Potter! Or I'll beat you up!" He raised the bat above his head to swing it down on the puppy.

Harry scrambled over to cover the animal with his body, pulling his arms up to cover his head. A soft whimper escaped him when the wood connected with his back, aggravating the wounds he had received from Vernon earlier that day.

"I told you to move!" Dudley said angrily.

Harry barely had any time to prepare himself before Dudley began raining down blows on him. He clenched his teeth as his body took blow after blow. When he could no longer hold up his own weight, he collapsed to the side so as not to fall on the puppy he was shielding. His back to their abusers, he held the puppy to his chest, his arm wrapped around it protectively.

Dudley's face was red from exertion, and so he finally threw the bat onto the ground. "Let's go. He's boring."

Relief washed over Harry. His entire body hurt, and he couldn't move. He felt the puppy struggling against him, and with all his strength, he lifted his arm, wincing at the pain that coursed through him at the movement.

The puppy limped out. Of course it was leaving, and it would probably never trust a human again.

Harry closed his eyes. No matter what he did, his efforts, the efforts of a worthless child, were meaningless, fruitless...he opened his eyes in surprise when he felt a small lick on his face.

The puppy was looking down at him. It let out a whine before it limped over to Harry's arm, which was hurting from shielding it, and began to lick it.

It was licking his wounds, giving him comfort in the best way it knew how. It was the first time someone thanked him so sincerely, and Harry was touched. With much effort, he raised his hand and reached out to the puppy, petting it gently on the head. He smiled when it licked his hand and leaned into his touch. "Come here," he whispered as it curled up under his arm. "You're hurt, too. Let's…let's just rest, okay?"

…

After that incident, Harry found his first friend. The puppy turned out to be a German Shepherd and was extremely loyal to him. Every late afternoon, Harry would finish his chores and take a break at the nearby playground, and the puppy would wait for him there. It gave him something to look forward to, and for the first time in a long time, life returned to Harry's eyes. He gave his friend a name – Riley.

Riley grew in size quickly, and by the time summer was over, he was fairly large, weighing almost sixty pounds. No longer fearing Dudley and his gang, the dog accompanied Harry home and to school often. Remembering Dudley's cruelty, he developed a strong aggression whenever Dudley tried to come near Harry. Although he barely reached Vernon's lower thigh at this age, he was more than enough intimidating for Dudley and his gang, snarling whenever they were near and once even tackling Malcolm when he tried to grab Harry. In all cases though, whenever Harry called his name, he stopped and returned to his savior.

The only unfortunate thing was that Dudley would complain about Riley to Vernon, and Harry would end up being punished for his dog's behavior.

One day, everything he had ever known changed.

Harry was at the park, running across it, chasing and playing with Riley. He had to admit – the German Shepherd was a very active dog. After a while, he bent over his knees, panting from exertion, his back aching and smarting from his earlier beating. He sat down on the grass and waited for Riley to run over before petting him on the head. "Sorry, I don't have as much energy as you do."

Riley responded by giving his hand a small lick, eliciting a laugh from his human.

Harry hugged him. "You want to walk me back, Riley? My aunt and uncle would throw a fit if I'm not back in time to make dinner."

Riley lay down next to him and gave a small whine.

Harry scratched him under the jaw, causing Riley's tail to wag happily. "I'm sorry. I really am, but I can't play with you all day. I would love to be here with you, but the Dursleys…they wouldn't like that." He frowned and looked up at the sky. "I've been living with them since forever. I don't even remember my parents, who died in a car crash when I was really small. Uncle Vernon always said I'm not grateful to him for taking me under his roof, but I…I don't think they're very nice people."

Riley laid his head and paw on Harry's lap _.  
_

Harry laid his hand on Riley's head. How fortunate was he to have found such a friend. "I'm glad to have you for a friend. You're the only one who doesn't remind me that I'm worthless every day because I did the right thing that day." He closed his eyes. "I just wish I'd be taken away from that place."

" _Harry…Potter…"_

Harry opened his eyes in surprise to look around for the source of the whispery, raspy voice. It wasn't often that someone called out to him by his first name.

However, Riley's head was low, his lips pulled back to reveal his teeth in a snarl.

" _Come here, boy…"_

Harry stood up and walked towards the sound. Before he could get very far though, Riley jumped in front of him. "Riley, what's wrong?" The dog showed no sign of letting Harry pass, and whenever Harry tried to go around him, he would jump in front of him to block his way again. Harry finally realized what his friend was trying to do and knelt down, petting it on the head. "It's okay, Riley. I'll be careful. Promise."

Riley was still adamant against letting him pass.

" _Come here…Harry…Potter…Ignore the dog…"_

Riley growled before grabbing the edge of Harry's oversized shirt with his teeth and pulling him away.

" _I will not hurt you, boy…I merely wish to speak to you…and make an offer…"_

"Wait a second, Riley," Harry said, his curiosity getting the best of him. "Who are you? Can you show yourself?"

" _My name is not important…at least at this point in time…It is not possible for me to show myself to you, for I am not…physical."_

"So you're a ghost?" Harry asked, still ignoring the persistent tug on his shirt.

" _More of a spirit. I am the manifestation of power and immortality themselves."_

Harry had no idea what that meant. "So what did you want to speak to me about?"

" _I know you, boy…abused, neglected, starved by your relatives, those who were supposed to love you…cherish you…care for you…"_

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wondering how much the spirit actually knew. Never had a stranger known so much about his life with the Dursleys. At school, the teachers noticed his skinniness, but all they would ever do was tell the Dursleys that he needed to eat more, never suspecting for a moment that the Dursleys abused him.

" _You wish to be away from them…I can help you…as I have said, I am the manifestation of power itself…I can give you power beyond your imagination…you simply have to accept it…"_

Harry swallowed. He was starting to get the chills from this spirit.

" _You do not have to give your answer now…but consider it, boy…power…power to exact your revenge on those who hurt you…power to act on your hatred…"_

As the voice faded away, Harry finally allowed himself to be dragged away by Riley. He shivered. He would never, never, never want to cross paths with that spirit again. There was something sinister about it. As he and Riley walked back to Privet Drive, Harry realized he was late in making dinner for the Dursleys. It was not going to end well. Standing in the driveway, he trembled in fear before whispering to Riley, "Go, Riley. I'll see you tomorrow."

Riley must have heard the absolute terror in Harry's voice because he hesitated to leave until Harry urged him to go.

Taking a deep breath, Harry resignedly approached the door that stood between him and cruelty beyond his comprehension. Suddenly, the door slammed open, and a large beefy hand reached out to grab his neck. The next thing Harry knew, he was thrown into the wall, and his uncle was towering over him with the most vicious look on his face.

"You…you…" Vernon appeared too angry to speak. "How dare you - "

Harry swallowed and mentally prepared himself for the inevitable beating.

"I'm sick of seeing your worthless body wasting space in our home!" Vernon spat, his eyes almost maniacal. He turned to his wife. "Petunia, no one has come to check on him for a long time. Surely there is no reason for keeping him!"

"But, Vernon, if  _he_ finds out…"

"I don't know what kind of people your sister hung out with, but in this neighborhood, you don't force someone else's kid on a respectable family and expect them to take care of him!" Vernon glared at Harry. "He cannot blame us for anything that happens to this freak! That's it! I'm through with him in this house! I'll get rid of him and  _make sure_  he'll never come back to our doorstep!" He stormed into his study before coming out with what shocked and froze Harry to the very core of his being. In his uncle's hand was a gun.

…

Dumbledore pushed a Transfiguration tome back into its place on his shelf as he hummed to himself. The school year had started out wonderfully. The house elves really outdid themselves for the Welcoming Feast…

A sharp sound caused his blood to run cold. He spun around and stared at the shattered globe on his desk - the protection surrounding the Dursleys' house had been broken. But how? It could only break when Harry would turn of age or when he could no longer consider the Dursleys' house his home. The former was impossible, and the latter was quite unlikely. A home was a place that one knew one could return to at the end of the day. What could have possibly made Harry think that he could no longer return to the Dursleys? Surely his relatives did not simply kick him out!

But there was no time to dwell on such matters. A crack sounded as Dumbledore disapparated.

…

"Vernon, what are you doing?" Petunia cried, horrified. "You'll be dragged to prison if the police finds out!"

"What the police doesn't know won't hurt them or us," Vernon said coldly.

This Vernon was someone even Petunia was afraid of. She cowered against the wall, too afraid to approach him, especially with the gun in his hand.

As he aimed his gun at Harry, he said tauntingly, "Any last words you would like to say, freak?"

Harry could only look on helplessly, fearfully as Vernon prepared to pull the trigger. His own family member was about to kill him. He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing for the worst…

Suddenly a loud, familiar bark caused Harry to snap open his eyes. What he saw…there were no words to describe it.

Vernon had forgotten to lock the door, and Riley slammed it open in his haste to save his master. The next few seconds passed by in slow motion. Riley leaped at Vernon's arm, his jaws clamping onto the large man's arm and his momentum pushing the gun to the side - when Vernon pulled the trigger, the bullet hit the wall right next to Harry. However, it only made Vernon enter into a rage. He rammed Riley into the wall, causing the dog to let go with a whimper. Without hesitation, Vernon fired off several more shots.

"NO!" Harry's voice sounded foreign upon his own ears. All he could see was red, red, red, and more red spilling across Aunt Petunia's once-clean floor. He ran to Riley's still body, shaking it as he cried, "No, no, no! Riley, please wake up!" He refused to believe it. He refused to believe that his first and only friend was dead. "No…" He stopped when it was clear that Riley wasn't responding no matter how much he shook him. His heart felt cold and ached. Hot, angry tears spilled onto the floor.

"Stupid dog," Vernon spat. "Now it's your turn." He pointed the gun at Harry.

Harry couldn't describe the heat that rushed through his body. Never had he felt such anger, such rage before. It enveloped his senses and left only one emotion – pure hatred.

" _Let your hatred go, boy!"_

Harry didn't bother to remember where he had heard that voice from. He simply obeyed the command and let go.

Vernon was blasted backwards into the opposite wall by a powerful burst of magic. Wind whirled around Harry, slicing and tearing at everything near him. Petunia and Dudley cowered in the corner, terrified not only of the impressive display of magic but also of Harry's eyes, which were glowing blood red.

" _Surrender yourself to me, and I will give you unimaginable power! Take your revenge!"_

Suddenly, Harry had a vision of himself trapped within a ball of white light. In front of him, a large figure with billowing robes loomed over him. Its red eyes glowed from beneath its hood as it hissed,  _"You are mine…Harry…Potter…"_  Its hands closed around the sphere containing Harry…

Harry closed his eyes. Yes, he wanted to hurt the Dursleys – he wanted to hurt them for everything they had done to him, what they had done to his friend...

Something warm, wet, and very familiar nudged against his hand.

Harry's eyes snapped open. In front of him in his vision was Riley.  _Harry struggled to lift his hand and reach out to pet the puppy gently on the head…Riley curled up under his arm…_

As the memories played out, his anger faded away, slowly but surely, only to be replaced by a stronger, more painful emotion – grief. The light surrounding Harry expanded, and although the black figure looming over him struggled to grab onto him, it couldn't.

" _What are you doing, boy? Do you not want revenge on them?"_

The vision of Riley faded away, and Harry's physical vision cleared until he could see the Dursleys cowering together against the far wall. They had starved him. They had beaten him. They had hated him. They had even tried to kill him. But he didn't want revenge on them - revenge wouldn't bring back the only good thing he had.  _I don't know who you are. I don't know what's going on, but no, I don't want revenge on them. I just want to leave this place and never come back._ Grief taking a huge toll on his body, Harry collapsed after he heard an inhuman scream of anger.

…

Dumbledore was shocked at the sight that greeted him as he approached the Dursleys' home. The front door had been ripped off its hinges, revealing a mess inside. A dead dog was lying in a pool of blood in the corner, Harry was unconscious next to the dog, and the Dursleys were cowering against the opposite wall. "What happened here?" he whispered to no one in particular. His eyes strayed to the gun still in Vernon's hand, and he understood why Harry no longer considered the Dursleys' house his home. "What have you done?"

Vernon mustered up enough courage to snarl, "We didn't want him in the first place!"

"But he was family," Dumbledore said softly, dangerously. "You were the only family he had left. Yet you consider him beneath the strangers you meet out on the streets!"

Vernon was about to argue, but seeing the look on Dumbledore's face, his mouth snapped shut.

"I see that you can not sympathize with him." Dumbledore pointed his wand at him and then waved it. "Perhaps…" He paused when a scream ripped itself from Vernon's throat. "…feeling the same pain he went through at your hands would teach you sympathy."

"You...what did you do to me?" Vernon howled. He could feel a terrible sting crack across his back.

"You are being given the same measure that you measured out to him."

Vernon clutched his head. Tears fell from his eyes.

"I'm sure Harry's suffering wasn't just physical." Dumbledore started to pick up Harry in his arms before stopping. Glancing at the dog, he laid him over Harry after cleaning the blood off the fur with a charm. Then he stood up and apparated with them both.

After he laid Harry down on a bed – with Riley next to him - Dumbledore sat down on a chair next to the bed, his face in his hand as he couldn't bring himself to look at the face of the boy he had failed. "What have I done?"


	2. The Sweet Taste of Forgiveness

Dumbledore held a vigil over Harry that night. After healing Harry's wounds, he healed Riley's wounds. Then once he was sure his charge would be as comfortable as he could be, he sat beside the bed, thinking. He thought about how close Harry had come to dying. He thought about the wounds and scars he had seen crisscrossing Harry's back. He thought about the bones he could count when he lifted the boy's shirt to heal him. And those thoughts tormented him through the night.

As the sky brightened outside, Harry shifted awake in bed.

Dumbledore watched as Harry's eyes slowly opened. The Headmaster had left the boy's glasses on.

Harry turned to face Riley, his hand reaching out to pet the dog's head. He noticed neither the luxury of his surroundings nor the elderly man sitting at his bedside. He could only replay the scene again and again in his mind – Riley saving him, Vernon killing him, and Riley's blood spilling out onto the once clean floor. His only friend, the one good thing he had, had sacrificed his life for him. How was Harry, a child who had thought himself worthless for almost all of his life, supposed to comprehend the worth Riley placed on him?

A tear rolled down onto his pillow. His heart ached so much it hurt. The most precious thing to him was snatched away from him, even though he had nothing else. Was he only Fate's playtoy? He had never hurt anyone…he had never killed anyone…Harry was fully sobbing now. He clutched at Riley's fur, burying his face into the dog's neck. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. "Please forgive me. I don't deserve what you did for me."

Dumbledore's heart broke as he heard those words, so pure in their sorrow. Deciding that it would be best to leave Harry to mourn his friend for the moment, he stood and left the room.

_Harry cowered against a tree as Dudley and his gang surrounded him._

" _Harry Hunting sure is fun, isn't it, Dud?" Piers Polkiss asked gleefully. "I'll hold his arms behind him while you punch him, okay?"_

" _Get on with it!" Dudley said, his malicious eyes focused on his helpless cousin._

_Suddenly, Riley sped out of the bushes and stood in front of Harry, his head lowered and his teeth bared in a snarl._

_Dudley stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in fear. "N-nice doggie..."_

_Riley snapped his jaws threateningly at each of them in turn before they all ran off in terror._

" _Riley, come here," Harry commanded fondly. The dog ran to him, and Harry hugged him, laughing and praising, "Good boy…good boy…"_

Now, nothing he could do will ever bring his loyal friend back.

…

When Dumbledore returned several hours later, he found Harry sitting at the edge of the bed, his hand on Riley's head, which was laid on his lap. "Harry."

Harry looked up. With childlike curiosity piercing the grief in his voice, he asked quietly, almost timidly, "Who are you, Sir? And where am I?"

"Everything will be explained to you in due time, my boy. For now…" Dumbledore looked at Riley. "…perhaps we have a more pressing matter. Would you like to bury him?"

Harry lowered his eyes, combing his fingers through Riley's fur as though the dog were still alive. "Please, Sir…Would it be too much to ask for maybe a tombstone?" Tears escaped from his eyes once again, and his next words came out in gasps and sobs. "I know he's a dog, but he saved my life."

Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Of course, Harry." He waited for Harry to calm down before he secretly conjured up a large sheet of velvet cloth. Taking Riley's body into his arms, he wrapped the cloth around the corpse before returning the body to Harry's arms. "Follow me, Harry. He will get the burial he deserves." He led Harry outside and into the surrounding forest. They walked for several hours, but Harry said no word of complaint.

Finally they arrived at a small clearing where Dumbledore turned to Harry. "Do not ask questions yet, Harry. All will be answered soon, but for now, take your time to mourn." He took out his wand and pointed it at the ground. " _Defodio_." With that, the earth hollowed out into a neatly cut grave.

It amazed Harry, but remembering Dumbledore's words, he made no comment. Instead, he gently placed Riley's body into the grave.

Dumbledore covered the body with dirt before using more magic to conjure up a smooth black marble tombstone at the head of the grave. "What would you like to have written on it?"

Harry stared at the tombstone before saying, "Riley – Faithful and loyal unto death."

Carefully, Dumbledore carved the words into the marble. Then he waved his wand several more times. Two crystal vases, each filled with lilies, appeared on either side of the tombstone. The grass behind the marble morphed and transformed into a white marble statue – a perfect replica of Riley standing proudly on a base about two feet high. " _Orchideous_." Dumbledore handed Harry a bouquet of flowers.

Harry was speechless, both from thanks and amazement. He laid the bouquet on the brown dirt that covered where Riley lay. "Thank you, Riley. I'll never forget you." Somewhere in the distant recesses of his mind, he felt a comforting hand on his shoulder, but in the forefront, he only felt coldness. Coldness that numbed the hurt in his heart.

…

Harry allowed himself to be led back. He never felt more tired in his life. However, his curiosity triumphed over his weariness, and he turned to Dumbledore. "Sir, who are you?"

Dumbledore motioned for Harry to sit down on the sofa in front of the fireplace, which he proceeded to light. "Harry, there is much I have to tell you. And not all of it will be good."

"It's okay, Sir," Harry said. "You're very kind. You helped honor Riley's death. Whatever's not good – you'll make it better, won't you?"

Dumbledore stared. Despite everything Harry had been through, his trust was so easy to obtain. How could anyone abuse this child? He mentally sighed, the weight of his guilt heavy on his soul. He could only hope Harry could forgive his mistake. "My boy, you will not think highly of me after tonight," he said.

"Sir, we barely know each other…" Harry protested.

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet him. "Please, Harry, wait until the end before you make a judgment about my character. I would prefer not to gain respect that I do not earn."

Still doubtful, Harry nonetheless obeyed and remained silent for Dumbledore to continue.

"First and foremost, we must start with the foundation of your world, as well as mine. Tell me, Harry – do you believe in magic?" Dumbledore asked, solemn.

"Uncle Vernon always told me that it doesn't exist," Harry replied softly, uncertainly. "But you did all those things, and they…they look like magic…" He trailed off, his shoulders trembling slightly as though he was expecting to be punished for saying such blasphemies.

"That is because they are. After what happened, Harry, are you really going to believe anything your uncle told you?" Dumbledore ignored the nagging guilt that told him that technically, Harry shouldn't believe anything Dumbledore told him either. He pulled out his wand and flicked it at the pillow behind Harry, floating it into the boy's arms. "I assure you that nothing can transform grass into statues, except magic. Pure magic."

Harry's eyes were wide with fascination as he drank in each and every one of Dumbledore's words.

The elderly wizard put his wand away. "Your parents lived in the world of magic, and now, it is your inheritance."

Harry's eyes widened further. "You…you know my parents, Sir?"

"I do."

Harry held himself back from bombarding Dumbledore with questions. Instead, he asked the question that he felt would clear up most of his confusion, "But, Sir, how can I be a wizard? I've never done anything magical in my life. I can't even do those magic tricks people do with cards…"

Dumbledore chuckled. "That is not magic, Harry. They are simply…ah, how to say it…tricks. However, they are not true magic. To answer your question, I am almost certain you have done some accidental magic by now."

"Accidental magic?" Confusion flitted across Harry's face.

"Magic that comes out when you're feeling a strong emotion, such as grief or fear, and that you have very little control over." The expression on Harry's face was answer enough for Dumbledore.

"Wait, Sir, does my magic have a voice?" Harry asked, remembering the hissing voice that he had heard the day before.

Dumbledore frowned. "It shouldn't. I have never heard of anyone's magic having a voice." At that, realization dawned upon the wizard. "Harry, when did you hear this voice?"

"Yesterday at the park and then at the Dursleys."

_When the protection was broken…_ It was a close call. Harry must have fought Voldemort off somehow. That would be the subject of Dumbledore's thoughts for another day. "I see. Let's continue."

Harry gave him a strange look but nodded.

"As I have said, magic is your inheritance, but it is not all that you have received from your parents. In fact…" Dumbledore made a wide sweeping motion with his arm. "…this entire mansion, called Potter Manor, and all surrounding lands are yours. Your ancestors on your father's side owned this island." He smiled at the disbelief on Harry's face. "Of course, they also left you quite a large amount of gold, but that's all in your vault at Gringotts."

"All this?" Harry asked feebly.

"All this." Dumbledore bowed his head slightly. "You must forgive me for trespassing on private property, Harry."

"I-it's fine," Harry stammered, overwhelmed.

Dumbledore chuckled before his expression became more serious. "Now, Harry, for the heavier material. One thing you must understand is that not all wizards are good. About seven years ago, there was a wizard who studied the Dark Arts in more depth than any other before him. His name was Voldemort. And seven years ago, Voldemort came after you."

Harry blinked. "Me? Voldemort came after me?" Was he so detestable that someone wanted him dead even as a baby?

Dumbledore replied gently, "Harry, there are some things that you should not know before you're ready. But understand this – it had nothing to do with you as a person and everything to do with Voldemort's fears and greed. I was in charge of keeping you and your parents safe. I was and still am the Headmaster of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Your parents attended it, and soon you will as well. Albus Dumbledore."

"How should I address you, Sir?" Harry asked.

"'Professor' or 'Sir' will be fine, Harry." Dumbledore continued, "By the time they went into hiding, your parents had already moved out of Potter Manor. Your mother was not fond of aristocratic life, and so your parents moved to a cottage in Godric's Hollow. There, they were given the most powerful protection possible. However, despite all that, Voldemort broke through, murdering both of your parents to get to you."

"How did I survive?" Harry asked, breathless.

Dumbledore lowered his head and said heavily, "Your father was murdered first, apparently trying to buy your mother enough time to run away with you. After he finished with your father, Voldemort came after your mother. I will not tell you how I know this, but Voldemort gave your mother something that he had never given anyone else. A choice. She could step aside and let him kill you, preserving her own life at the cost of yours, or she could remain between him and you. It was her  _choice_  that saved your life, Harry. She chose the latter, and her sacrifice protected you when Voldemort tried to kill you. His curse rebounded and destroyed him instead."

Harry swallowed. "My parents sacrificed themselves…for me?"

Dumbledore nodded and took Harry's hand, turning it over to reveal his wrist with its veins clearly showing. "Yes, Harry, they did. And they did so willingly. Their love for you runs through your veins so long as you live."

All his life, Harry thought he was loveless. Yet here, the very fact that he was alive showed how much he was loved. First, his parents died in trying to protect him from an evil wizard. Then, Riley died in trying to protect him from his murderous uncle. The ultimate sacrifices were made for him. It was almost too much for him to handle knowing.

"Now, it is time for my confession."

Harry looked up and was startled to see Dumbledore's sorrowful gaze on him. "Professor?"

"Harry, everything I have said to you is the truth. No matter how you feel about what I'm going to tell you, please understand that," the wizard said.

Harry nodded slowly.

"The one who gave you to your relatives after Voldemort's attack was me." Silence greeted his words.

"What?"

Dumbledore closed his eyes. He didn't think he could bear to see the betrayal on Harry's face. "I am the one responsible for putting you under your relatives' care."

"But why?"

"After Voldemort was gone, the war against him ended. His reign of terror was over. Many believed that you, by your own power, destroyed him, and you became famous. I believed that you would be better off away from all that. That left nonmagical families. However, I feared Voldemort's followers seeking revenge on you, so I gave you to the Dursleys. Since they are related to your mother by blood, by living with them, you keep your mother's protection alive through what we call 'blood wards.' It's ancient magic – neither Voldemort nor his followers can harm you there. What I did not count on was your uncle trying to kill you under his own roof. Due to his actions, you could no longer call the Dursleys' house your home, and the protection broke down."

"Couldn't you have taken me here?" Harry asked in a desperate tone.

"Here, Harry, the only living creatures are house elves. You would have had very, very limited human interaction. Can you see how that would have stunted your social growth?"

"Anything would have been better than the Dursleys," Harry replied miserably. "Did you…did you ever check on me?" He wasn't sure which answer was worse.

"That was my mistake, Harry. I did not check up on you, and so I did not know how badly you were treated. I had put too much faith in familial duties. But I was wrong." What a mistake it was, too. He should have known better, especially with his past regarding family. When the Headmaster looked up, the sight that greeted him sent a fresh wave of guilt through him. He resisted the urge to reach out. It was not right for the one who hurt to comfort as well.

Harry sat there, his eyes lifeless. Dumbledore confirmed what he had feared. Was he a burden to take care of? Was that why he didn't check up on him? Harry stood up and left the room without another word. He needed to think. When he was sure he was out of Dumbledore's earshot, he sank to the floor, hugging his knees. The man he thought he could trust had been responsible for his life of suffering. What was he to do?

…

Dumbledore waited. One hour. Should he have waited until Harry was older before telling him all this? Two hours. But Harry deserved to be told all this. He had faced trials that would terrify any adult. Such experiences force children to mature beyond their years. Three hours. Dumbledore hoped that he had done the right thing. Perhaps in time, Harry would forgive him. His heart ached at the thought of Harry hating him. In such a short time, he had grown fond of the boy. Four hours. It was pitch black outside by now, and the Headmaster was starting to worry. A noise to his left made him raise his head.

Harry stood there, not looking him in the eye. His face was one of determination. "Professor…" Harry began after a moment of silence. "I…" He seemed to be struggling with himself to say what he had to say.

Dumbledore sighed. He would make it up to the boy somehow, he promised himself. Even if Harry grew to hate him. "Harry, I understand if you hate me…"

Harry looked him in the eye then, but his face showed surprise and confusion, not anger and hatred as Dumbledore had presumed. "Professor, I don't hate you. I was about to say I forgive you."

Dumbledore blinked. "Pardon, Harry?"

"I forgive you." Harry shifted nervously, uncomfortably, before explaining, "It was hard for me to say it. A bit awkward. I've never said that to anyone before. Usually, it's the other way around. Uncle Vernon said that it's always my fault when bad things happen. But…well, I thought…in this case, you seem to be the one wanting forgiveness."

"You're not angry, Harry? Or upset?" Dumbledore asked, his surprise still evident on his face.

"Of course I was," Harry replied. "But I had time to think it over, and I thought…well, you made a mistake. You seem as though you really do care, but you made a mistake. A bad one, but a mistake still."

"Harry, I ruined your childhood," Dumbledore protested softly, still disbelieving.

Harry looked away. "I was angry at you for a while. And I wanted to hate you. But all that anger didn't feel good, and it just made me feel terrible, as though I'll never feel happy again. I didn't like it, and you sounded like you were really sorry, so there's no reason for me to hold a grudge. Everyone makes mistakes, some bigger than others, but no one's perfect. People try their best, so we shouldn't point fingers. It's not right, no matter how big the mistake is."

Dumbledore stared. Who was this boy who had such a natural tendency, an instinct, to forgive? It simply wasn't natural.  _I forgive you._ Such beautiful words that warmed his heart and healed his soul, if only partially. How often had he longed to talk to his family again and hear them say those words? He mentally chuckled at the irony. How many times did one get to see an eight-year-old child forgive an old man for his mistakes? After a silence, Dumbledore smiled and reached out, laying his hand on Harry's head, ruffling his hair slightly. "You are a good person, Harry, no matter what your uncle had told you in the past. Thank you."

And Harry could feel his own heart lighten.

…

The sun shone through the parted curtains in Harry's room and landed right on his face. Harry groaned slightly and opened his eyes, reaching for his glasses on the table next to his bed. Putting them on, he blinked blearily, wondering for a moment whether everything that had happened the day before had been a dream. Realizing where he was, he was happy to conclude that it wasn't. After Dumbledore had left for Hogwarts, promising to return the next day to help Harry adjust, Harry went straight to sleep, exhausted. Now that he had had a full night's sleep, he was ready and excited to explore this world of magic that he had been dropped into.

He leaped out of bed, and not wanting to disgust his future Headmaster with morning breath, he rushed into the bathroom that was connected to his room. He paused for a moment to admire how big it was before reaching for the toothbrush by the sink. He still couldn't believe that this entire mansion was his! After he brushed his teeth, he decided to take a bath as well.

Harry was delighted to discover that the numerous faucets, shaped like animal heads, on the edge of the tub each released a different smelling soap and that the glass panel next to the tub opened up to an entire store of bath oils. Harry took off his clothes, about to jump in, when he noticed his appearance in the mirror. It hadn't improved much, but his back…the wounds had all healed, even though some scars remained. He smiled, realizing that Dumbledore must have healed them the day before, but he had been too emotionally drained to notice.

As he relaxed in the water, Harry thought about the last conversation he had with Riley. He had wished to be taken away from the Dursleys. And his wish came true. "I wish you're here with me," he murmured. He closed his eyes. "Don't worry about me, though, wherever you are. I'll live for the both of us. I won't waste your sacrifice. I promise."


	3. Rags to Robes

When Harry entered the living room, he found Dumbledore already there, sitting in an armchair. The wizard smiled at him and said, "Good morning, Harry."

"Good morning, Sir. What are we going to do first?" Harry asked, his excitement clear.

Dumbledore chuckled. "First and foremost, you must meet the other occupants of this house. They have been waiting most patiently to see you, and it would be a disfavor to make them wait any longer."

As though waiting for that exact moment to appear, several house elves popped into existence, forming a large semicircle around Harry and the couch. About thirty of them in number, they were wearing what Harry thought were blue towels with black ribbons tied around the waist. A rather old one approached him, bowing, and said, "It is an honor to meet Master at last, Master Harry, Sir."

Harry gawked before turning to Dumbledore, unsure of what to do.

"These are house elves, Harry. They are servants of the manor. As you can see, they have been eagerly awaiting your presence."

"Oh…er, hello," Harry said awkwardly.

The house elves listened intently, hung upon each word coming from their master's mouth.

"You are their master, Harry. In every sense of that word. They will obey your every order."

Harry shifted uncomfortably. Master? It was a strange position for him to be in. "Every order?" he asked Dumbledore tentatively, unsure of what that meant.

"Every order," Dumbledore confirmed, nodding. "You can order them to kill themselves in a most painful way, and they will obey."

"Sir, I don't want that kind of power. I'm not a god. I don't want power over someone's life and death," Harry protested.

"Well, there is a way to free the house elves," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye. "However, you must understand that they  _wish_ to be enslaved. If you free them, you will not be doing them a favor. To free them, you simply have to give them clothes."

"They like being enslaved?" Harry asked in disbelief.

Dumbledore nodded. "It is difficult for most humans to understand. However, service is at the core of their being - it is part of who they are."

What was Harry supposed to do with such power? He had never been in such a position before. "I don't know, Sir. I don't want to hurt them or anything like that. But they like being enslaved, so I can't just free them."

Dumbledore smiled. "Masters do not have to be cruel, Harry."

Harry had never considered that option. Due to Vernon's treatment of him, he had viewed his uncle less as family and more as a cruel master. As a result, he thought all masters would be similar and wanted nothing to do with such people. What Dumbledore said was a relief. "I guess I'll just have to be a good one."

"I'm sure you will be, Harry," Dumbledore said approvingly.

"Master Harry, Sir, do you want anything?" one of the house elves squeaked out.

"I…" Harry's stomach growled. With all the excitement, Harry had forgotten to eat all of yesterday.

"Master Harry is hungry! We will make breakfast for you, Sir!" The house elves all disappeared with resounding cracks.

Harry admitted to Dumbledore, "This feels really strange, having others cook for me. I've cooked every meal for as long as I can remember. Er…do you want breakfast, Sir?"

Dumbledore smiled, a serene expression on his face. "That would be nice."

...

"Please note, Harry, that I won't be able to visit often since I have duties as Headmaster. Therefore, if you wish to explore Diagon Alley at another time, please take a house elf with you. They will be able to protect you." Dumbledore took out his wand. "Before we go, I want to perform a very powerful spell on this estate to protect you. It is called the Fidelius Charm, and it will hide the location of this place from all except those whom you reveal it to. With this spell, no one can find you so long as you are on this island."

Harry nodded. "Do I have to do anything?"

Dumbledore shook his head and laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, pointing his wand at the boy's chest.

Harry's chest opened, and beams of light streamed out of it. In the air in front of him, the words "Potter Estate, Hazel Island" appeared before they sped into his chest, which then closed, and the light disappeared.

Dumbledore stowed away his wand. "After we leave this island, Harry, I will have no recollection of its location. Its location is a secret hidden in your soul. You are the Secret Keeper."

"I can tell you though, right? The secret?"

"My boy, you can tell the secret to whomever you'd like," the wizard said, chuckling. "It's your secret to tell." Dumbledore took hold of an ornate crystal bowl on the shelf above the fireplace. "This is Floo powder. It's a method of travel used by wizards. You take a pinch - you don't need a lot. Then you step into the fireplace, call out your destination, and throw the powder onto the hearth. Like this." He stepped into the fireplace. "Diagon Alley." And in a burst of green flames, he disappeared.

Harry stared. "Brilliant," he breathed. He followed Dumbledore's example, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the floor of a different fireplace.

"I see you had a good trip." Dumbledore said, his eyes shining merrily. He lended Harry a hand and pulled him up. "This, Harry, is Diagon Alley."

Harry gawked. What a marvelous place it was! Shops sold everything from cauldrons to owls to robes. Wizards and witches wearing robes and cloaks swarmed his vision and crowded the streets. Shopkeepers and patrons haggled over prices of potion ingredients and spellbooks, and every so often, an owl or two would swoop overhead. "Sir…this is…this is…"

"Ah, even after many years of seeing this place, it never ceases to amaze me." He watched as Harry peered through a window, his eyes bright with wonderment at the various equipment on display.

"Sir, what are Galleons?" Harry asked, pointing at the sign that showed the price of a set of scales.

"Wizard currency, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "We'll stop by Gringotts first – the wizard bank. You can't buy any of these things without money after all. " He pointed at the tall, white building that loomed over Diagon Alley. "You were left quite a fortune from your parents." He led Harry inside.

Harry swallowed nervously when he saw the goblins. They were short like house elves, but they appeared much nastier. "Sir, what are those?"

"Goblins, the bankers," Dumbledore said cheerily, making his way over to the nearest goblin. "Excuse me, Mr. Glavak, but Mr. Potter would like to take a visit to his vault."

Glavak leaned over the counter on which he had been counting rubies to look at Harry. He sneered, "Does Mr. Potter have his key?"

Dumbledore pulled out a small gold key and handed it over to the goblin. "That should be the key to his vault."

Glavak huffed and barked, "Griphook, show Mr. Potter his vault!"

As they followed Griphook into a cart, riding it though a network of tunnels to his vault, Harry didn't think he liked the goblins very much. They didn't seem friendly, especially Glavak.

When the cart stopped, Griphook stepped out and motioned for the key. "This is Vault 687." He walked up to a large, round metal door and stuck the key into its hole, turning it. The door swung open.

Harry gawked.

The vault was large enough for several people to walk inside comfortably. On either side of the narrow walkway, there were mountains upon mountains of gold Galleons, silver Sickles, and bronze Knuts. Further along, there were stone tables piled high with gemstones of all colors - rubies, emeralds, amethysts, diamonds, lapiz lazulis, sapphires just to name a few. Long strings of pearls decorated the walls.

Harry said in disbelief, "There is no way this is my vault."

Dumbledore chuckled. "The Potter Family is a very old and wealthy Wizarding family." He reached into his robes and pulled out a small hardcover booklet, scarlet with gold designs like the goblins' uniforms. He held it out to Harry. "I had taken the liberty of asking for an inventory of your vault. It's a bit early for you to learn finance, but at least you can keep track of the activity of your account. Withdrawals and deposits will be recorded in that book."

Harry was still in shock. In less than three days, he had found out that he owned an  _island,_ a  _manor_ , and a vault with incredible amounts of  _treasure_.

Dumbledore took out a pocket watch, frowned at the time, and then said to Harry as he put it away, "My apologies, but I have duties I must attend to soon. When you return home, if you wish to go to Diagon Alley for a bit of shopping, remember to take one of the house elves along with you."

"Yes, Sir."

"Of course, you'll need something to hold your money in." Dumbledore turned to Griphook. "Does Gringotts hand out money pouches?"

"It will cost you," Griphook replied with a nasty smirk. "A Knut for a cloth pouch. A Sickle if you want an anti-theft charm or a protection charm on it. A Galleon if you want both. Five extra Galleons if you want it to be dragonskin. All purchases are permanent."

Harry turned to Dumbledore. "What should I get, Sir?"

"My boy, it is your money to spend as you please," Dumbledore replied.

Harry didn't have much experience with money - none at all, in fact. The Dursleys never allowed him to touch a single penny. Now that he had so much, it was baffling for him to decide how to spend it. His instincts told him that spending thoughtlessly would not go well in the long run. "What does dragonskin do?" he asked.

"Dragonskin is spell-repellent and quite durable," Dumbledore replied. "It's been known to sustain heavy damage for years without ripping."

Harry took out five Galleons and a Sickle from his vault and handed the money to Griphook. "Can I get a dragonskin one with an anti-theft charm?"

Griphook took the money and pulled out a black, leathery money pouch from his pocket, handing it over to Harry, who filled it up with a handful of Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts each.

...

"It has been a good morning spent in your company, Harry. Take care," Dumbledore said as he watched Harry step into the fireplace with Floo powder in hand.

"Will you visit sometime, Sir?" Harry asked hopefully. Not having experienced much kindness in his life, he was reluctant to part ways with one of the few people who had treated him kindly.

Dumbledore nodded. "It is difficult with my duties and responsibilities. However, when I have time, yes, I will visit."

Beaming, Harry was about to throw the Floo Powder onto the hearth when he remembered a very important detail. "Oh, Professor, I almost forgot!" He ran over to Dumbledore and whispered in his ear, "Potter Estate, Hazel Island." He was about to return to the fireplace when he remembered yet another very important detail. "Professor, you said that accidental magic happens when I feel a strong emotion, but does that always have to be the case?"

"That is usually the case. However, there are a few who can do simple magic at will without a wand. It requires a control that most wizards and witches do not have, so I wouldn't call that 'accidental' magic." Dumbledore seemed thoughtful before he added, "Your mother I believe was gifted with extraordinary control over her magical abilities, and so she was able to do that at a young age even before she knew what magic was. What prompted your question, Harry?"

Harry appeared conflicted, shifting nervously from foot to foot. Then he pulled a seed out of his jeans' pocket. "Riley and I found a few of these seeds while playing in the park the other day. I was thinking…" He swallowed and didn't finish his sentence. Instead, he laid the seed on the palm of his hand and furrowed his eyebrows in concentration.

To the older wizard's astonishment, the seed  _hatched,_  and a plant emerged from it. Soon a fully formed daisy was in Harry's hand, and he offered it to Dumbledore. "It's for you, Sir." He bit his lip anxiously. The last time he tried to make something special for his aunt and uncle, they had simply burned his cards...right in front of him.

Dumbledore stared at the flower in Harry's hand before chuckling. He accepted it and said, "It's beautiful, Harry. Thank you."

In an instant, all of Harry's uncertainty washed away. He gave Dumbledore a bright smile and then ran back into the fireplace. "Potter Manor," he said before throwing the powder onto the hearth and disappearing in a burst of green flames.

As Dumbledore returned to Hogwarts, his heart felt warm and full. Such a delightful child. McGonagall would later ask why he had a daisy on his desk, and he would answer that a child had given it to him, earning him a very strange look.

...

"Nettle, what are these things?" Harry asked, standing outside the apothecary.

"Those are potion ingredients, Master Harry, Sir," his house elf companion replied. "But Master won't be able to do such magic until Master gets his wand!"

A magic wand. That was what excited Harry the most. "Let's go get one then!" he said excitedly.

"But, Master, you won't be able to get one until you're eleven!" Nettle said.

"Oh." Harry deflated. "Let's go look at something else then." He saw a group of people crowded around a display case, and his curiosity pulled him towards the crowd. To his surprise, the display case was showing…a broom?

"Look at that! The newest Cleansweep model!" A boy, slightly younger than Harry, was jumping up and down in excitement.

"So what? Cleansweeps don't have anything over the Nimbuses," another older boy replied, rolling his eyes. "They don't go nearly as fast."

So brooms were a transportation method. But Cleansweeps? Nimbuses? The names made no sense to Harry. However, the brooms on display intrigued him. There was something  _thrilling_ about riding a broom. "Hey, Nettle, how much do brooms usually cost?"

"They range, Master Harry, sir!" Nettle squeaked, holding onto Harry so that she wouldn't get separated from him in the crowd. "Some are really expensive, up to several thousand Galleons! Master can get one for only several dozen Galleons, but those don't work as well."

Harry reached for a copy of  _Which Broomstick_ and said, "I think I'll order one later. I don't know anything about brooms." He straightened up and continued down the street, wishing for the hundredth time that he had about eleven more eyes. There were still so many shops to explore!

"Excuse me, dear…Pardon, but I really must get through…"

Harry looked towards the voice and saw a squat, middle-aged witch trying to get through a crowd into Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. The witch, who he assumed was Madam Malkin, was carrying several boxes that reached over her head. She appeared frazzled - most likely because her shop had almost ten people waiting simultaneously for her to fit their robes. Deciding to help the poor woman, Harry turned to Nettle and said, "Go home, okay, Nettle? I'll call on you when I need you."

The house elf reluctantly nodded. "Master be safe!" she said before disappearing with a crack.

Harry approached the jostled lady and asked, "Um, do you need help?"

The witch glanced over her shoulder at him and said, "It's really quite alright…" She was interrupted when someone bumped into her, causing her to drop two boxes. Still carrying three boxes, she sighed and said, "I'm sorry, dear, but could you pick those up for me? I would shrink them, but these robes are already measured..."

Harry wasn't sure if he  _could_  pick up two boxes. They did seem large and heavy to him. However, he attempted to anyway. To his surprise, the boxes weighed almost nothing – magic.

"Thank you, dear," Madam Malkin said tiredly, grateful to be able to see above the boxes. "Put them on the counter over there…yes, that's it…"

"Do you need anything else, Madam Malkin?" Harry asked, eager to help.

"You're a sweet boy, but I…" The witch glanced at her line of customers and sighed again. "Well, if neither you nor your parents mind, it would be nice to have a bit of help around here."

"I'm sure my parents won't mind." It struck him as odd that Madam Malkin didn't have any assistants to help her around the shop, but he didn't bring it up. All that afternoon, he fetched supplies, carried rolls of cloth back and forth, and unpacked the robes. By the time they were finished, it was already dark outside.

As the last customer left the shop, Madam Malkin turned to Harry and smiled, even though she appeared exhausted. "Thank you so much for your help today. I hope I didn't trouble your parents too much," she said. "It was so busy I didn't pay attention to the time." She shook her head. "When are your parents coming to pick you up?"

Harry blinked. "My parents are dead," he said, ignoring the coldness that spread through him.

Madam Malkin stared, not understanding. Then she gasped. "Oh, I'm so sorry..." A look of confusion crossed her face.

"My parents died, but I was sure that they wouldn't mind me helping out," Harry explained, swinging his legs innocently from his stool. Then he jumped off and said, "Don't worry, Madam Malkin. I had fun today."

The witch, for the first time since Harry met her, relaxed. "I'm sorry, dear. I really was out of it today. I didn't even know your name, and I practically employed you for a day! What's your name?"

Harry beamed. "Harry. Harry Potter."

Madam Malkin's eyes widened, and her jaw dropped open. She blinked. And blinked again. " _Harry Potter?"_

Harry nodded. "It's a pleasure meeting you, Madam Malkin."

"It…It can't be…" She swallowed before gesturing to his forehead. "Can I?"

"Sure?" He felt her slender fingers lift up his bangs. At that moment, he realized that she was checking for his scar.

"You really are Harry Potter," she whispered in awe as she let go of his hair. "I can't believe this," she muttered to herself. " _Harry Potter_ was here, working in my shop, and I didn't even realize it."

Harry remembered Dumbledore saying something about him being famous in the Wizarding World. Despite not liking being famous for something he didn't do, he liked Madam Malkin. "I'm just curious, Madam Malkin - don't you have people to help you around the shop? It seems like a popular place to maintain all by yourself."

Her expression quickly changed from amazement to sadness. "I used to, dear. I used to. Twilfitt and Tatting used to work here as my assistants as well as apprentices. However, they didn't like the types of customers I welcome into my shop, so recently, they left to open up their own business – Twilfitt and Tatting's. And it's difficult finding new help willing to learn the trade."

"Types of customers?" Harry asked, curious. He didn't understand. Weren't shopkeepers supposed to welcome everyone?

Madam Malkin shook her head, looking uncomfortable with the subject. "It's a terrible prejudice. The notion that those whose parents are magical are better than those whose parents aren't. It's rubbish. I've seen many a talented witch or wizard whose parents have not a clue as to what magic is until they receive their child's Hogwarts letter. It has nothing to do with magical ancestry and everything to do with magical talent and hard work."

Prejudice? Harry couldn't help but feel disappointed. At a subconscious level, he had thought the Wizarding World was perfect though logic told him otherwise. He would have never guessed that prejudices existed.

"But anyway…it is very busy around here, especially without those two helping out." She looked at Harry. "Well, thank you, dear, for your help today. It was very kind of you."

Suddenly, Harry had an idea that would knock several birds down with one stone. Witches and wizards talk while getting their robes fitted, and he needed to learn more about the magical world. Madam Malkin was nice and could use the help. And he enjoyed working at the shop that day and wouldn't mind learning a bit more about that line of work. "Madam Malkin, can I help out every day? I'm not Twilfitt or Tatting, and I doubt I'll be as good. But if you teach me the trade, I promise I'll work hard."

Madam Malkin's eyebrows shot up into her forehead. Will the surprises never end? "I doubt you want to work here, dear. You're very young, and it can get hectic. Twilfitt and Tatting already finished their Hogwarts education by the time they came here to work."

"Please, Madam Malkin? I enjoyed working here today, even though it was busy."

Madam Malkin glanced at him guiltily before turning away. "I can't believe this. I'm desperate enough to consider this. I must be going crazy. But I really could do with some help." She sighed and turned to him. "Alright, I'll hire you, but if you ever need a break in the day, say so. And…wait, don't you have a guardian at least? So I can talk to them about this?" she asked anxiously.

Harry shook his head. "I used to, but not anymore." Seeing the look on the witch's face, he added quickly, "I can take care of myself. Really, I can!"

"I don't feel right about doing this…"

"Please hire me!" Harry pleaded. "I'm willing to learn the trade and everything!"

With that, she caved. "If you're certain…"

Harry nodded vigorously. "I am."

"Well, then, as for your salary…" Madam Malkin furrowed her eyebrows in thought. "How about a Galleon an hour?"

Harry shook his head. "I don't need the money, Madam Malkin."

Madam Malkin folded her arms. "You must be crazy if you think I'm going to let you work unpaid."

"I swear I don't need the money!"

"A Sickle's the lowest I'll go," Madam Malkin said firmly. Then she softened her tone. "That wage is one of the lowest in Diagon Alley."

Harry frowned but decided not to press the matter.

Madam Malkin smiled at his lack of complaints. "Now, a day in Diagon Alley is flexible - shopkeepers each decide the hours they open and the hours they close - but for most shops, they open at around nine in the morning. So tomorrow, come a bit earlier, maybe around eight, and I'll start teaching you a bit about the trade." Her eyes narrowed. "Dear, _what in the heavens are you wearing?_ "

Harry looked down at himself. He was still wearing his cousin's ill-fitting hand-me-downs – a pair of worn out sneakers, baggy jeans that were too long for him and that required a belt to keep them from slipping down his waist, and an oversized red sweater. There were no robes (or any clothing, for that matter) in any of the spacious wardrobes and closets of Potter Manor – as though his parents had cleared them all prior to moving out. Harry had been meaning to buy some in Diagon Alley but had forgotten in his awe and wonder. He grinned sheepishly. "I hadn't had the chance to go shopping for clothes yet."

"Come here, dear. It's past closing time, but I'll make an exception for you as thanks for your help today." Madam Malkin pushed Harry towards one of the mirrors lined up against the wall.

"It's okay, Madam Malkin. You don't have to…" Harry began but was interrupted.

"Nonsense, child! You need  _proper_ clothing," the witch replied, waving her wand at the tape measure on the floor. It flew up into the air and began measuring Harry's arms, legs, torso, neck, chest, waist, and anything else that it could measure that was part of his body. "Hmm, you have a rather small frame…"

Harry smiled, never having anyone make a fuss over what he wore before. That evening, Madam Malkin sold him eight sets of robes and several cloaks at minimum price.


	4. For Want of a Broom

Several months passed, and Harry was very happy working at Madam Malkin's shop. He learned his way around the shop, the names of different fabrics and cloths, and simple designs of robes. He loved the feel of the cloaks, the sight of the differently colored fabrics, and the smell of robes ironed with scented water. He enjoyed the gossip of the witches and wizards who came in to be fitted. It was a peaceful routine that felt like paradise after his life of almost constant terror at the Dursleys.

"So I told you my cousin is still in Hogwarts, right? He's in love with this girl from Ravenclaw and tried to get her to drink a love potion. I told him he was being an idiot, but since when does that guy ever listen to me? Filch confiscated his love potion order, and he, that's right, my cousin – the worst potioneer in the history of Hogwarts - decided to brew his own." The young man made an exasperated hand gesture and then, quickly realizing his mistake, apologized to Madam Malkin, who was adjusting the sleeves of his robes.

"Are you serious?" his female companion asked, careful not to move so that Harry could record her measurements. "He can't even brew a decent cure for boils! Snape blew a gasket the day he melted his entire cauldron  _and_ landed half the class into the hospital wing!"

"I know! Well, I didn't tell him I told him so, but I did warn him. He ended up brewing a hate potion and getting her to drink that instead. The girl jinxed him all the way down the Charms corridor! Flitwick had to restrain her until Snape could brew an antidote. When she found out what he had attempted to do to her though, they may as well not have bothered. I didn't think it was mentally possible for someone to hate someone else so much."

Familiar with many of the terms by now, Harry decided at that moment to chime in, "Maybe if he hadn't given that to her, she might have been impressed that he could brew such a potent hate potion!"

"Yeah, maybe they could have fallen in love over the hate potion. What irony," the young man replied, chuckling. "But as it is, no girl in her right mind from Ravenclaw would ever fall for that guy. I feel kinda bad for him actually. I mean, look at the girls from that House!" He jerked his head towards his companion, who blushed at the compliment.

"You are very pretty," Harry commented.

The girl's face reddened even further. "Jack, don't go around telling little kids to say that!" However, it was clear that she was pleased.

Jack laughed. "I didn't, Serena." Then he turned to mock-glare at Harry. "And you, back away from my fiancée."

"But then she would end up with only half her dress robes fitting right. I don't think Miss Serena would appreciate that at her wedding. She might end up jinxing  _you_  all the way down the aisle."

Serena laughed at that. "Oh my god, you are so cute."

Jack pouted. "I can't believe this. I have competition from a seven-year-old."

"I'm eight, Master Jack."

"Eight-year-old then. That makes it loads better."

All of them laughed at that, including Madam Malkin. When the customers left, the witch turned to Harry. "Good job today. How about we go grab a bite to eat at the Flaming Dragon's across the street?"

Harry nodded eagerly. They had been working all morning, and by now, he was starving. The Flaming Dragon's was his favorite café, too. It was small, popular but not too crowded, and brightly lit, unlike the Leaky Cauldron. And the food was good, too, albeit a bit spicy.

As they waited for their orders to arrive, Harry asked, "Madam Malkin, I was just wondering - could you tell me more about Quidditch? I heard a lot of people talking about it the last few weeks, but I don't really understand the game. And the broomsticks, too. I was thinking about getting one, but I don't know which to get."

"Quidditch?" Madam Malkin hummed thoughtfully. "Well, it's a game played on broomsticks. There are several types of balls and positions to play. The goal of the Chasers is to put the Quaffle, one of the balls, through the opponents' hoops. The Keeper defends his team's hoops. The Bludgers are balls that go around trying to smack people off their brooms." She shivered. "Nasty little things. But on each team, the Beaters will try to hit the Bludgers away from their fellow teammates." She paused. "I think that's all…no, nevermind, there's another position to play. The Seeker tries to find the golden Snitch before the other team's Seeker to end the game. I forget how many points it was, but rarely does a team lose the game when its Seeker catches the Snitch."

"What's the best broom to buy if I'm just beginning?" Harry asked, pulling out his copy of  _Which Broomstick_.

Madam Malkin shook her head. "I wouldn't recommend you learn how to fly before going to Hogwarts, dear. It's dangerous without someone there to watch out for you in case your boom goes out of control, you fall off, or something of that nature. After you get your flying lessons and know how to control a broom, it isn't that bad, but before that, things can really get out of control. Especially on brooms designed for playing Quidditch. Those brooms are fast and not designed for beginners."

"Oh…" Harry wondered if the house elves could watch out for him. Maybe he'll look into that later.

"However, if you do play Quidditch, I recommend the Nimbuses. They're the fastest brooms available. The latest model is the Nimbus 1900." She sipped her tea before cutting into her chicken. "I'm not an obsessive Quidditch fan, but my husband is and updates me on these things."

Harry flipped through the catalog. Then, when he found what he was looking for, his eyes bulged. "That broom costs three thousand Galleons!"

Madam Malkin nodded in agreement. "Those brooms are expensive. That's why most people are willing to go with the Comets or the Cleansweeps. They're cheaper, though not as good."

"I wish I know how to fly," Harry said longingly before putting the catalog away. There was no point in buying such an expensive broom since he didn't know how to fly.

"Wishes…that reminds me, Harry, dear. When's your birthday? You have been working with me for nearly a year now, so that means you must be turning nine sometime soon, right?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably. "I actually don't know."

"You don't know?" Madam Malkin stopped eating to stare at him. "What do you mean?" She had never met a child who didn't know his own birthday.

"I…well…" Harry stammered. "I know it's in the summer, but I don't know the specific date. I usually just wait for the summer to pass before I say I'm nine or whatever the next number is." It embarrassed him to admit it, the few times someone cared enough to ask. At the Dursleys, his birthdays came and went like every other day until he only had a vague idea of when it was.

Madam Malkin frowned. "What kind of guardians did you have, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, not wanting to remember. "They weren't the nicest people I've met." He took a long sip of his smoothie, his gaze lowered. "I'm happy now though. And that's all that matters, right, Madam Malkin?"

Madam Malkin was quiet for a while before she replied slowly, "Yes. Yes, I suppose so."

...

"Good afternoon, Madam Malkin."

Madam Malkin looked up from her sewing. "Oh, good afternoon, Albus. What brought you here today? Need new robes? Cloaks? Or are you just here to check up on Harry again?"

Dumbledore chuckled. "You know me all too well, my good witch. Where is young Harry?"

"He's doing what he's always doing during his breaks – staring at the Nimbus 1900 display case." She sighed and put down her sewing. "That boy is obsessed with flying. I don't think he has any room left in his head for anything else besides broomsticks and robes."

"That obsessive is he?" Dumbledore didn't find that the least surprising. "I wouldn't be surprised if he becomes a future Quidditch player."

"Oh, I'm not so certain about  _that_ , Albus." Madam Malkin shook her head fondly. "I can see him being a tailor. He has the eye and hand for it. One glance at a person, and he can choose a suitable design for any occasion. Forgive me if I sound like I'm exaggerating, but he's advancing through all the techniques faster than Twilfitt and Tatting!"

"He values hard work, although no doubt natural talent plays a part as well," Dumbledore said as he sat down on a stool across from the seamstress.

"I have no doubts about that." She paused. "But I do worry about him sometimes. He's such a nice boy, but he seems…I don't know the word for it. I've never seen him having fun with the other children his age. And he never asks for breaks – he only stops working when I bring it up. While he is good help, I'm afraid that his childhood will slip away from him if he keeps this up."

Dumbledore was silent for a while. "I'm afraid that his childhood already had. He's seen things no child should. But I think he's doing well in spite of all that."

"I see." She closed her eyes. "Such a sweet boy. If I could have a child, I imagine it to be just like him. Is it strange, Albus, that I see him like a son?"

Dumbledore smiled. "No. Not at all. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he considers you a motherly figure."

Madam Malkin looked outside her store window to watch Harry, whose eyes were fixed upon the sleek broomstick in its case. She and her husband had both wanted children, and it was to their greatest disappointment when they found out that Madam Malkin wasn't capable of conceiving. It was also one of those disappointments that would never fade, not like receiving a low score on a test in school or failing an interview for a job. Every time she saw a family, it reminded her of what she could never have.

But then Harry came along.

Almost two decades of disappointment had passed, and suddenly a little boy came into her shop, asking to be her apprentice. At first, that was all she saw him as. But as the days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months, her affection for him grew. He was happy doing all that she asked of him and never made a word of complaint, and while at first it unsettled her, over time she understood that he simply enjoyed helping her out in any way he could, no matter how menial the task was. He paid careful attention to everything she taught him and gracefully took her corrections to heart. And the most endearing part of it all was that he was so sincere about it - she could feel his devotion to her. Without realizing it, she had begun to view him as the son she never had.

Motherly instincts often told mothers when something was wrong with their child, even if there was no solid proof. And Madam Malkin instinctively knew that Harry had had a more difficult life than he was letting on, which troubled her, although she never mentioned it to him. What saddened her more was that she knew that there was nothing she could do to change that fact.

...

As she walked past Quality Quidditch Supplies on her way home, Madam Malkin saw the Nimbus 1900 on display. She had seen Harry's eyes shone as he stood there, dreaming of flying on it. It was the only material item that she had ever seen Harry want. She approached the display case, staring at the price. Buying the broom would take quite a chunk out of her savings - her husband would think she had gone mad.

"I never knew you were interested in Quidditch, Madam Malkin. Therefore, I must assume that you're thinking of Harry."

The witch turned to see Dumbledore looking at the display case as well. She sighed. "Yes, I am thinking of getting it for his birthday. You said it is July 31?"

Dumbledore nodded before he commented, "You know, Harry has more than enough money to buy this broom."

Madam Malkin's eyes widened. "You can't be serious, Albus!"

Dumbledore smiled. "He is one of the richest people in Great Britain."

"I wonder why he doesn't buy himself the broom if he wants it so much," she said, shaking her head.

"He might be thinking that there is no point since he doesn't know how to fly yet."

Madam Malkin frowned. She did tell him that it was dangerous for him to learn how to fly on his own. But maybe if she watched out for him... "Albus, do you think it unwise for him to learn how to fly at such a young age?"

Dumbledore considered it for a moment. "No. In fact, I think it would be good for him." He wasn't too worried about Harry flying. He easily remembered James Potter's natural talent in the air. He was phenomenal, combining both grace and strength on a broom. If Harry was as talented as his father was in the air, Madam Malkin should have no worries.

"I know you said he has enough money to buy it for himself," Madam Malkin said. "But I want to do it…I want to do so much for him. Have you ever had this feeling, Albus? That you just want to do everything you can for someone? Even if it sounds ridiculous and foolish? That's how I feel right now. I'm considering doing something as absurd as wiping out most of my savings to buy Harry a broom that he could easily get himself."

"Well, I can honestly say Harry has never had anyone feel that way about him before."

"Oh, you can be honest. I've had my suspicions about how his previous guardians had treated him. But that's not why I want to do so much for him. It's not as though I feel I should recompense him for all that. I just want to make him happy."

"I think just knowing that someone cares so much about him would make him the happiest boy alive." Dumbledore looked up at the night sky before saying, "I must be getting back to Hogwarts, so if you'll excuse me, Madam Malkin…"

"Wait, Albus. What are you doing here at this time of night?"

"You're not the only person capable of considering making absurd decisions," he said. Seeing her surprised expression, he chuckled. "Good night, Madam Malkin."

...

"Madam Malkin, what's going on?" Harry asked curiously as she covered his eyes with her hands and led him towards the rooms in the back of the shop.

"Shh, dear. You'll like it." And then she uncovered his eyes.

Harry stared. On a long desk, where he usually ironed robes, was a sight he was very familiar with. There was no mistake. It was the Nimbus 1900.

"Happy birthday, Harry," Madam Malkin whispered in Harry's ear. "I'll help you learn to fly."

Harry swallowed. His shoulders trembled. "But, Madam Malkin…"

"Don't worry about the price, dear. Don't think about it."

It was almost surreal. How many times had Dudley's presents piled high on the Dursleys' table? How often had Vernon and Petunia bought Dudley something that Harry wanted simply to spite him?

A long silence ensued, and Madam Malkin started to worry. "Harry…?" She stopped, her eyes wide.

Tears ran down Harry's cheeks. His eyes were closed. "Thank you, Madam Malkin. You have no idea how much this means to me." Then, in one motion, he flung himself into her arms. "Thank you so much…thank you, thank you, thank you…" The simple realization of how much Madam Malkin loved him had sent him into tears.

"Oh dear…" She ran her hand through Harry's hair while holding him to her chest. All remaining guilt about buying him the present escaped her mind. She never felt happier in her life.

And for a long time, they held each other like that - a woman who longed for a child and a child who longed for a mother. No words were exchanged in that time, but no words were needed - sometimes being in the presence of a loved one was enough.

...

"As expected, he's quite talented."

"He has given me quite a few heart attacks already, Albus. It scares me sometimes watching him." Madam Malkin sipped her tea, her eyes focused on Harry's figure in the air. "But, yes, I've never seen someone so talented in the air."

Dumbledore was having a wonderful afternoon. Invited over for tea at Madam Malkin's home, he was able to see Harry's flying skills for himself. The reality exceeded his expectations. Harry wasn't just talented at flying. He was  _gifted._

Harry maneuvered his broom until it was almost vertical with the ground before speeding down towards the earth.

Madam Malkin's eyes bulged as she reached for her wand.

"Calm, Madam Malkin, calm. I'm sure he knows what he's doing." Dumbledore fingered his wand. To his shock and horror, Harry didn't stop even when he was thirty feet above the ground. At the speed he was diving, there was no way he can stop in time. Dumbledore stood up, his wand out, determined to prevent Harry's imminent crash.

Fifteen feet from the ground, Harry turned so that his broom flew to the side, making a dramatic circle that sent dust up into the air. Harry's elbow grazed the grass. He quickly brought the handle of his broom up and once again accelerated into the air.

Dumbledore blinked. It was unbelievable. Fifteen feet from the ground. Flying at full speed. After recovering from shock, he smiled and sat down again. "I can see why he's a recipe for a heart attack."

Madam Malkin nodded fondly. "But I've never seen him so happy. He flies on the broom every break he has. Although he scares me to death with those dives of his, my heart still thrills whenever I see him fly. I've never seen anyone look so alive."

"You have no regrets in buying him that broom?"

"None whatsoever. My vault isn't nearly as full as it originally was, but that's fine. And look at him! What is there to regret about?"

"Madam Malkin, throw me a ball!" Harry called from the air.

To Dumbledore's delight, she pulled out a small ball - the size of a golf ball - from her robes. She drew her arm back and threw it as far as she could.

Dumbledore squinted, but it disappeared from his view.

Harry leaned forward, and soon, he was holding the ball triumphantly in his hand.

"Seeker?"

Madam Malkin nodded. "And to think he's only nine."

"I think that's a wonderful age to start developing talent." Dumbledore sipped his tea. "Ah, children these days."

"Will you be staying for lunch, Albus?"

"It would be my pleasure. I would love to see any other moves Harry can pull off while in the air."

"Then you're in for a show. And a heart attack."

"I'm old. Dying of a heart attack wouldn't be so bad. Especially when I'm seeing something that many would die to see."


	5. The Freedom of a Familiar

"I have a stable?"

The elderly house elf nodded vigorously. "Yes, Sir. And much more, Sir!"

Harry scratched the back of his head sheepishly. Ever since he got his job at Madam Malkin's and started his flying experiences, he had forgotten that he was the master of an entire estate. While the house elves did do most of the maintenance work, he shouldn't be neglecting everything. "Will you be my guide then?"

"Of course, Master Harry, Sir! Blinky will be happy to show you!"

Harry grinned. The house elves were so enthusiastic. He grabbed his cloak and followed Blinky to the stables, which were located several meters apart from the manor, forming a semicircle around a courtyard. They were divided into several stalls from which neighing and screeching could be heard.

Blinky walked up to the nearest stall and opened the door.

Harry gawked. He had been expecting a horse. And a horse did come out. However, it had wings.

"Master Harry, Sir, his name is Archer," Blinky said, leading the winged horse over.

Archer was magnificent. His coat was a shiny black, and his mane and tail were light and silky. When he stretched his wings, the feathers splayed out gracefully, spanning a good ten feet. He leaned forward and nudged Harry playfully.

Harry flinched. Archer could probably trample him in a heartbeat. It wasn't an encouraging thought.

Seemingly hurt, the stallion retracted from Harry, snorting unhappily.

Harry swallowed, feeling guilty. He approached the powerful creature and reached out with a shaking hand to pet him on the nose. He flinched when Archer leaned into his touch, but he didn't pull away. After a moment, Harry reached out with his other hand and rubbed the side of Archer's muzzle. The creature stayed perfectly still, except for the occasional flicking of his tail. "Sorry," Harry apologized softly. "I've never met such a large creature like you before. I just need some time to get used to it. It's not your fault or anything like that."

Archer's ears twitched, and he blinked.

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Can you understand me?"

"He can't, Sir, but he can interpret the tones in your voice," Blinky squeaked. "And he knows you're his master by your scent - Master James's blood runs through your veins!"

Harry smiled when Archer closed his eyes, as though relishing his touch. "Archer," Harry tried his name out.

Archer's ears twitched again at the sound of his name, and he opened his eyes.

Harry felt Blinky press something into his hand and looked down to see that it was a harness. It was clear that he was supposed to learn how to  _ride_  Archer. Harry gulped. Flying on a broomstick was one thing, but flying on a horse? The bridle felt unfamiliar in his hands. It took some time (as well as trial and error) to put it on Archer, but the winged horse was patient, doing his best to remain still during the process.

Harry licked his lips as he stood back. "Is that okay, Blinky?" A quick glance at the elf told him that he did it right. Now to get onto his back…Harry frowned. He can't reach that high.

"Master James used what he called the 'run, leap, and push' method, Master Harry, Sir," Blinky offered. "He would run, jump, and then use his hands to help push himself up. It takes a bit of practice, Sir."

Harry stepped back, muttering to himself, "Who would have thought my dad knew how to ride?" He doubted this would work, but well, if his dad used it…He sprinted towards Archer, and when he thought he was close enough, he jumped. "Oof!" Harry's arms were on Archer's back. However, try as he might, he couldn't pull himself up. "Oh, Merlin…" He slid off Archer's side.

Archer let out a snort and shook his head.

"Oh, shut it, you," Harry grumbled. "It's your fault you're too tall." Archer nudged him apologetically, making Harry laugh. Archer wasn't bad company once he got over his size. And Harry found that he was able to quite easily read his body language. It was like understanding Riley…Harry pushed the dull ache in his heart away, opting instead to brush his hand gently through the horse's mane. "Don't they wear saddles?" he asked.

Blinky shook his head. "Winged horses don't like saddles, Sir. Wizards use the Cushioning Charm."

"Oh." Of course wizards didn't use saddles. What was Harry thinking?

"It will take some practice, Sir, before you can get on his back without help." Blinky carried a stool over and set it beside Archer.

Harry climbed onto the stool before jumping onto Archer's back. His bottom felt something soft - a cushioning charm had already been applied. He felt Archer's wings shook open in eagerness. Laughing at the horse's antics, he grabbed the reins, but they felt foreign to him. He had never controlled an animal in such a way. Once his mount settled down, Harry flicked the reins.

Archer started in a trot before accelerating to a gallop. Once they passed the doors into the courtyard, he spread his wings and ascended into the sky.

…

"Welcome back, Master Harry, Sir!" Blinky said when they returned from their flight. It was getting dark.

Harry had spent several hours experimenting with the reins and flying over the forests below. By the end of the day, he was pretty sure he could work the reins right. He loved the experience. It was just like flying on a broomstick, only his mount was alive.

Blinky led Archer back into his stall. "Archer's the easiest to work with, Sir. But some of the others can be worse." With that, he led Harry to each stall, introducing each mount by name, temperament, and habits. In total, there were seven of them. "There is one more, Sir, but she is very nervous!"

"Nervous?" Harry asked. "Why? I'm a fraction of her size."

"Your grandfather bought her from an abusive owner just before he died. It's more difficult for her to trust humans. Her name is Star, Sir." Blinky opened the stall door and coaxed a beautiful white winged horse from her stall. She was smaller than the others but seemed more graceful.

Harry frowned when he noticed crisscross patterns on her flank where the short hairs were even paler than the rest of her. He reached forward to pet her.

Star was staring at him with wide eyes, her ears pinned against her head. However, she didn't back away.

Harry stopped his movement. It was clear she was frightened of him. "I won't bite," he began, trying to making his voice as soothing as possible. He smiled when her ears twitched towards him. "That's right. I won't hurt you." He stood there, his hand still outstretched, deciding it would be better for her to approach him. "Good masters don't hurt, as Dumbledore said."

Star watched him carefully, still not moving.

"Look. I have nothing to hurt you with," Harry said, showing both his hands. He was encouraged that her ears were still pointing towards him. She was listening. "Please let me touch you."

Star stared back at him with frightened eyes.

"She won't back away, Sir," Blinky said. "She's been trained not to do that, or she'd be punished, Sir."

Harry stepped back, bothered by that fact.

Star seemed to relax as Harry backed away from her. She shifted anxiously.

"Blinky, what do these horses eat?" Harry asked.

"It depends, Sir. Star likes chocolate."

Harry raised an eyebrow. He was expecting her to like apples or carrots. "Er…okay. Blinky, could you get me a bar of chocolate?"

"Yes, Sir, Master Harry, Sir." Blinky disappeared only to reappear with a bar of dark chocolate.

Harry unwrapped it and broke off a piece. He grinned when Star's eyes lit up, frightened and nervous but interested. He held out the piece of chocolate in his hand. "Come on, Star," he coaxed, whistling like he used to do to call Riley. He threw the piece of chocolate into the air, and to his delight, she did a little jump to catch the morsel in her mouth. "Good girl," he said encouragingly. He repeated the action with the same result. He continued to bait her, each time throwing the candy closer and closer to where he stood. Finally, when she was close enough for him to touch her, he offered the rest of the candy to her in his hand.

Star hesitated. Then she reached forward tentatively.

Harry stayed still, allowing her to eat out of his hand. The game seemed to have relaxed her somewhat. As she ate, he let his hands roam. He knew Riley enjoyed being touched in certain spots. As he pet her in different places, he carefully watched her reactions. Riley would wag his tail whenever he touched him in the right spot…Harry grinned. He found it. When he rubbed the area between Star's wings, her eyelids drooped, and her tail swung. "You like it, Star?" he asked.

Star continued to flick her tail back and forth.

"You're just like me, aren't you?" Harry asked fondly. She was trained to obey. She was taught pain. Harry turned to Blinky. "I think we're good for today, Blinky. I'm tired, and I'm sure Star is, too."

"Yes, Sir, Master Harry, Sir!" Blinky saluted, his eyes staring at Harry with adoration.

As they walked back to the manor, he listened attentively as the house elf described to him the thestral herd in the forest. Were all of his family members animal lovers?

…

Harry spent several weeks working in the stables. Sometimes he even slept there, only to wake up and realize that he couldn't go to Madam Malkin's shop smelling like horses. And the winged beasts learned to recognize the voice of their master.

However, Harry loved Star the most. After their first session, she relaxed more around him, so when he would come around to check on her, she would go up to him willingly.

One day, he decided to try something new. "Come here, Star," he said, coaxing her out of her stall.

Star obeyed without much hesitation.

Harry held up the bridle. As expected, Star's ears pinned themselves against her head, and he could see the whites of her eyes. He put the bridle down and placed a hand on the area between her wings. "Calm, Star. I won't hurt you. I never have and never will." He moved to face her and, looking her in the eye, whispered, "Will you do this for me, Star?" He reached down to pick up the reins.

Star held still as Harry slid the bit into her mouth, although he concluded that this must have been another doing of her previous owners. If someone tried to put a piece of metal into  _Harry's_  mouth, he would have resisted as much as he could get away with.

"Good girl." He put on the rest of the headgear and then attached the reins. Using the stool to assist him, he got onto her back. A squeeze from his legs to start her moving.

Star began to walk.

Harry patted her encouragingly. A flick of the reigns to signal flight.

Star accelerated to a gallop and then spread her wings. They were soon in the air. Once they were high enough above the ground, her wings stilled except for the occasional flap.

Harry leaned down until he was lying almost flat on her back. The world below them seemed insignificant. He closed his eyes. "I care about you, Star. I really, really do." He combed his fingers through her mane. Even though his mount didn't, couldn't, respond, Harry had a feeling she understood.

…

"Dragons?" Harry asked stupidly as he trudged through the forest towards the mountains with Blinky.

"Yes, Sir. Dragons guard the mountain ranges on the north side of the island. The first generation was brought here in 1493, and the dragons of that generation were chosen for their lower aggression levels. Over the centuries, your predecessors relocated any of the offspring that were too aggressive, and eventually, aggression towards humans died out among those remaining. The dragons here today will not attack a human unless provoked."

"And how big are they?"

"Up to forty feet long, Sir!"

Harry swallowed nervously. "And did…uh…my family ever think to take a census?"

"Fourteen, Sir, were bought and raised here. Six Opaleyes, two Common Welshes, two Short-Snouts, two Ridgebacks, and two Ironbellies. But there are more, Sir, by now due to breeding."

Harry was starting to think his ancestors were crazy. "Why so many Opaleyes?"

"They're the least aggressive and most beautiful species, Sir. Your great uncle was so fond of them, he lived out the last years of his life with one."

Yep, his family was crazy. "So why do I have to meet these guys?"

"They have to know you, Sir. And you need to salvage the bodies when they die for potion ingredients."

Harry felt nauseous. Salvage? Like dissecting? When they reached the base of the mountains, he saw a large reptilian body blocking their way. She was beautiful and magnificent beyond words. Covered in white scales, the dragon was almost forty feet long. Her wings were folded against her body, and her multi-colored eyes were blinking blearily in pain. "Blinky, what's she doing?"

Blinky rubbed his hands nervously. "It's an Opaleye, Sir. Blinky's not sure, Sir."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in concern. Was she sick? Hurt? He turned to view the rest of her body...and saw how large her stomach was. Harry flushed. He had read some books on dragon reproduction, but he didn't think he would actually see one give birth. He turned away, feeling that it was quite indecent of him to watch.

The dragon let out a low moan of pain.

Harry turned back to her, unsure of what to do. He didn't want to leave her like this. Slowly, he approached her. He knew dragon mothers were skittish, and he didn't want to startle her. Careful not to make sudden movements, he approached her head, keeping himself in her sight. Then he knelt down and petted her neck. "You're doing really well," he offered in a soothing voice.

She moaned again, her breathing heavy. Then, without further warning, her eyes rolled to the back of her head, and she stopped moving.

Harry widened his eyes. He recognized the signs. She was dead. But why? His curiosity led him down the course of her body to where her reproductive organ should be. A steady stream of blood was leaving her womb. Frowning, he knelt down in front of the exit for her eggs. Why was she bleeding so much?

"Sir," Blinky squeaked tentatively. "Her eggs are still inside her."

Harry steeled himself. To save the eggs and find out why she died giving birth, he had to get dirty. He took off his cloak and rolled back the sleeves of his robes. Strangely, he didn't feel at all disgusted by the task. He felt  _excited_. He pushed at the walls of her opening, and grunting with effort, he felt around inside her. Feeling something hard, he pushed his other hand inside, attempting to grab onto the egg and pull it out.

Suddenly a sharp pain made him yelp. "What the…?" The egg was sharp? Confused, Harry tugged at it. It was a difficult process, but after continuously pulling on the egg and pushing on the dragon's walls, he was finally able to yank it out. To his surprise, it wasn't an egg. It was an eggshell. It appeared that one of the eggs had broken inside the mother, and she couldn't push it out. "Blinky, can you get me a bag to hold the eggshells and a few preservation jars?"

"Yes, Sir."

Harry looked up to see Blinky looking slightly sick before the elf disapparated. Strangely, he didn't feel nauseous at all. He certainly felt sad. But not disgusted at what he was doing. He returned to his task - dragons laid several eggs at once, not just one.

Blinky returned to see his master panting on the ground, arms covered in blood. "Master Harry, Sir, are you alright?" he asked, concerned.

Harry nodded and, smiling tiredly, pulled back the folds of his cloak, revealing a single pale gray egg, slightly streaked with blood. "This was the only egg that didn't break. I'm glad it made it." He stood up. "Let's get all this back to the Manor." He placed each dragon fetus into a jar of preservation potion and collected the eggshells into a sack. "Can you get the body?" he asked Blinky, who nodded and levitated the mother's body.

Harry shouldered the sack and the four jars and held the precious egg in his other arm as they returned to the Manor, located several miles away. He sighed at the length of the walk. He was going to need a serious bath when he got back.

…

" _Your dragon requires a lot of care during these first few months."_

Harry grabbed the book off the shelf and returned to the parlor, where the grey egg, cleaned of blood, lay on the table. Next to the egg were several of his ancestors' journals on raising dragons. The house elves had started a fire in the fireplace.  _"The egg should be placed in fire because the mother usually breathes fire on her eggs."_  He picked up the egg carefully with tongs and placed it into the fire.  _"The length of time required for the egg to hatch is usually around a month."_

Harry walked down into his basement where there was a potions lab as well as a dissection room where the mother dragon's body was located. He entered the latter, and again, there was that excitement for discovery and fulfillment of his natural curiosity. As he stood in front of the dragon's body, he couldn't help but be in awe. "You are a beautiful creature," he whispered solemnly. "And I'm honored to be able to study you in this way."

And with that, he began. He exercised what he had learned from books and journals and scaled and skinned the creature first, allowing the blood to drain into a basin on the floor. He cleaned the skin and treated it before rolling it up for storage. By the time he was done, it was already 4 in the morning. He knew his work was going to span several days at least.

In the end, he had several jars of dragon blood, a box of dragon scales, a roll of dragon skin, several tons of dragon meat, preserved organs, a cleaned and bleached skeleton that he reassembled and hung above the potions lab, and parchment upon parchment of notes on dragon anatomy.

…

Harry carefully took the egg out of the fire with tongs and set it on the table. It was almost time. He had a bucket of brandy mixed with chicken blood ready next to him, and the house elves were preparing several more.

Suddenly, the egg cracked, and a reptilian head slowly poked its way out of the shell. It whined weakly.

Harry smiled. Baby dragons were certainly adorable. "Here, let me help you," he said tenderly. He picked off the piece of egg shell on the dragon's head.

The baby was as white as its mother. It clumsily made its way out of the egg and then collapsed on the table from exhaustion.

Harry chuckled. He took a towel and cleaned the creature before holding it in his arms. "Ready to eat?" he asked, offering the bucket of brandy and chicken blood. His eyebrows shot up in shock when it devoured the entire bucket within five minutes. "Great Merlin…"

The dragon blinked at him.

Harry couldn't help but laugh. "You're adorable. Just hold on a bit. Another bucket's being made."

It sneezed.

"We need a name for you, don't we?" Harry asked. He needed a name that would fit him (he was pretty sure the dragon was male) and hint at his later magnificence, if his mother's beauty was something to go by. Something ancient, too, as befitting a dragon. "Ferdinand."

The dragon looked up at him.

"Do you like it? Ferdinand." Harry grinned. "Come on. Let's get you another bucket of that stuff. You're supposed to eat one every half hour." He stood and carried his dragon into the kitchen.

…

Harry opened his eyes blearily. It was still dark, but someone was nudging him. He looked down to see a month old Ferdinand climb into bed with him. He groaned. Although his bed was huge, he would prefer not to share it with a scaly reptile with wings. "Nnngh…Ferdinand, go back to your bed…"

Ferdinand whimpered.

Harry blinked sleepily. "What is it?" Then he heard it. A loud rumble of thunder. "Oh, you're scared of the thunder?" He grinned. Baby dragons can be so cute.

Ferdinand just stared back at him with wide eyes, his head lowered as he sat there on the bed.

Harry chuckled. "Oh, alright." He lifted the covers. "Come here. But no scratching."

The dragon eagerly went under the covers, before turning to face Harry, who had already fallen back asleep. He let out a soft whine before curling up, his head on Harry's stomach. He let out a rumbling purr, when Harry's hand reached down to pat his head.

…

Every dragon had his bad day. And Ferdinand was no different. While Harry was gone most of the day at Madam Malkin's, Ferdinand, to amuse himself, developed a game of chasing the house elves around while they worked. He would nip at their towels and prod them a bit. Sometimes he even tackled them. He didn't hurt anyone…at least not seriously.

However, when Harry found out about his game, he was not happy. He didn't yell or anything. He just gave Ferdinand a look _._

And that was enough to send the dragon into long hours of moping. He was just playing! Yes, he did knock over a house elf and send the bowls of scalding soup flying, but still…no one got hurt! But Ferdinand didn't like the look in Harry's eyes, especially not when he was the cause of it.

Ferdinand grew quickly. By six months, he could breathe fire, and Harry was careful to teach him not to burn every piece of furniture in the Manor. By twelve months, he could fly, Harry encouraging him in stages – first spreading his wings, and then swooping down from a tree branch, and finally taking off from the ground. When Harry was convinced that Ferdinand could take care of himself, he took his dragon to the cliffs of the mountains.

As they peered down into the abyss, Harry felt the dragon nuzzle his shoulder, and he reached up to scratch the side of Ferdinand's muzzle. "Fly, Ferdinand."

Understanding the command, Ferdinand spread his wings and dropped off the cliff, swooping in a wide arch before ascending into the air. He was a magnificent creature, an embodiment of Harry's care. With a wingspan of twenty-five feet and a length of thirty feet, the adolescent was almost adult size. His scales shone brilliant white, and his eyes were like opals – the gems after which his species received its name.

Harry smiled as he watched his dragon do aerial maneuvers. There was a full ache in his chest. This was his dragon. He raised him. And he loved him. He remembered the day Ferdinand hatched, the day the dragon learned to breathe fire…But of course, he knew the day would come when he would have to release Ferdinand into the wild. Dragons weren't meant to be domesticated. He took out a small flute. He didn't really know how to play, but Ferdinand remembered notes more easily than verbal commands.

When he blew the note to call him from the air, Ferdinand obeyed and landed in front of him.

"I'm going to leave you here. I'm not abandoning you. I'm releasing you, understand?" Harry asked as he stared into Ferdinand's eyes. He began to walk away. When Ferdinand attempted to follow him, Harry raised his hand. "No, Ferdinand. You stay here."

Ferdinand let out a throaty whine but obeyed.

Harry walked away, feeling empty inside. He would visit of course. But it still felt as though he was leaving back a piece of himself. Suddenly, he heard a long, drawn out screech from behind him. It sounded almost musical and so sad that Harry felt the ache inside him intensify.

But he knew it was for the best. Now Ferdinand could live among his own kind.

…

When Harry stopped by Gringotts to pick up his account details after Madam Malkin closed shop, he didn't expect to pick up a familiar on the way. As he exited the bank, the streets of Diagon Alley were almost empty.

"We're going to have to euthanize her. She's too vicious."

Harry turned to the speaker to see a burly man talking to a witch with large black glasses outside the Magical Menagerie.

"Oh, give her a chance, Sir!"

"Ma'am, I have 24 people complaining to me about that creature!"

Curious as to what the fuss was all about, Harry snuck around the arguing adults into the open shop. Everything looked the same as it always did...except for the cage containing an 18 feet long king cobra. It appeared to be asleep. However, the moment Harry knelt down in front of the cage to study it, it shot up to its full height, hood opened and fangs extended, hissing furiously.

Startled, Harry fell backwards.

_Stay away, Human. Unless you thirst for death!_

Harry blinked.  _"Did I just understand what you said?"_  he asked in shock.

The snake reared back in equal surprise.

Harry stared.  _"Did you just understand what_ I _said?"_

The snake let out a vicious hiss.  _You better stay away, Human. I will bite whether you speak my language or not!_

Harry frowned.  _"You might want to be careful - they're thinking of killing you."_

_I would rather die than serve a human! All you humans are so predictable. Take me from my home and then expect me to cooperate! When I don't, kill me! Curse you all!_  She turned away from him.  _All you humans can go to hell. Who do you think you are? To treat every creature as though it's beneath you? Do you think we're thoughtless, emotionless beings whose highest aspirations are to serve YOU?_

"Hey, you, get away from that snake!"

Harry turned to see the man approaching him. The wheels in his mind spinning wildly, he blurted out, "I want to buy her."

The man gawked, speechless.

The witch behind him clapped her hands enthusiastically. "Absolutely wonderful! She'll be a Knut."

"Hold on a second! She could kill you in a heartbeat!" the man protested.

Harry shrugged as he handed over a Knut to the witch.

"Do you have a license? You can't own dangerous creatures without a license."

Harry gave the man a confused look. A license? But he didn't have a license, and he was technically the owner of several dragons. Suddenly something heavy appeared in his hand - a metal, rectangular plate –  _ **License for the Ownership of Dangerous Specimens.**_ The words underneath the large title listed his qualifications… _Qualifications?_ Harry didn't know most of what the license said he did.

The man stared at the license. "What the hell? You're too young to know how to do all this. How can you be a qualified naturalist at this age?"

Harry didn't answer. He didn't know how to answer. He was as clueless as the man. Harry certainly did not know how to tame a Cerberus! Or how to harvest Acromantula parts (what was an Acromantula anyway?)! Or how to catch and tame a Runespoor!

However, the witch beamed at him. "See? He's more than qualified! He's got more qualifications than most naturalists and tamers have together!"

The man was still skeptical. "Well, I'll tranquilize it for you just in case. And don't take it out of its cage. I'll check up on you every day to make sure nothing bad happens. And…"

"Don't tranquilize her!" At that moment, Harry felt it - an instinct from the core of his very being, the same instinct that allowed his family to forge relationships with almost any beast or being. He had to do this on his own with all the risks involved. No tranquilizers. No sedatives. As though the snake was another human being.

"But…"

Harry picked up the cage by the handle. "Thanks for the advice, but I think I can take care of myself thanks." He walked out of the shop, leaving the dumbfounded man behind him. When he stepped into a fireplace to go home, the man ran towards him.

"Wait! At least let me help you!"

"Potter Manor." And the man's concerned face disappeared.

When he stumbled into his living room, he brushed the ashes off his robes before calling, "Blinky!"

The elf appeared in front of him with a  _crack!_  "Yes, Master Harry, sir?"

"Blinky, what is this?" he asked, showing the elf his license.

Blinky stared at it for a moment before grinning toothily up at Harry. "It's your license, Master Harry!"

"But I don't have all the qualifications it says I do! And I don't remember ever getting a license!"

Blinky shook his head. "Anyone who inherits this estate automatically receives the license. It is to ensure that you'll be able to keep the creatures that have made their homes on this island."

"Isn't that dangerous? I don't have all the qualifications listed."

"You will, Sir!" Blinky grinned. "You're a special case, Sir, but usually this doesn't happen. An heir would usually have all of the qualifications by the time he or she is of age. So usually the license is obtained by people with all the qualifications, Sir."

Harry paled.

"Don't worry, Master Harry, Sir!" Blinky said good-naturedly. "You'll learn everything soon!"

Harry felt a headache coming along.

…

Harry yawned. He did not have a good sleep. He had been too busy worrying about the snake. What should he do with her? He didn't feel right releasing such a hateful creature. He walked down the stairs towards where he left the cage.  _"Good morning…"_

_It would be an even better morning if you had died._

Harry was starting to regret taking the snake home. She had been in a bad temper all evening.  _"What do you want for breakfast?"_ he asked.  _"Actually, don't answer…"_

_Your head on a platter._

Harry rolled his eyes. He tried again,  _"Mice? Lizards? Birds?"_  He was answered with a glare. Sighing, he pulled out a dead rat and dropped it into the cage.

_It's not even alive. Disgusting._

Harry ignored the comment and sat down next to the snake, who swallowed the rat whole.  _"So what do you normally eat?"_

_Ratsnakes._

_Oh,_ Harry thought.  _"Oh…uh…sorry about that…"_

_Don't bother, you bastard. Apologizing is just another way for you humans to lie._ She turned from him and laid her head down on the floor of her cage.  _If you're sorry, leave. You make me sick._

Harry was completely clueless as to how to deal with this. He went upstairs to his bedroom to see a snowy owl swoop through his open window. She landed on his shoulder and raised her leg.

_Harry,_

_My apologies that I am not able to visit today. However, the other day, I saw this owl from Eeylops Owl Emporium, and I thought of you. It is for you._

_Albus Dumbledore_

_P.S. I think you should have your father's cloak as well. He left it with me before he died. It's time that it's returned to you._

Harry couldn't help but smile. He petted the owl before opening the parcel. Inside was a beautiful cloak made of shimmering fabric. He put it on and was delighted to find that it was an invisibility cloak. "This is so cool!" He turned to his owl. "Isn't it…uh…? Do you have a name?"

She shook her feathers. An obvious 'no.'

Harry chuckled. "I think I'll name you Hedwig. She was a witch I read about last weekend. I like her name."

Hedwig ducked her head, accepting her new name.

…

Days passed in a similar pattern. Harry would occasionally feed his snake, trying to make conversation with her before giving up and going about his other business. One day, after a particularly frustrating attempt, Harry finally called his trusted elf. "Blinky?"

The elf appeared."Yes, Master Harry, Sir?"

"What is the snake doing right now?"

Blinky frowned. "She's trying to escape, Sir."

Harry gaped. "But she can't."

"She won't stop trying, Sir. She's been at it all night, Sir. Blinky tried to stop her, but she won't listen."

Harry frowned before putting on his invisibility cloak and going downstairs. She wouldn't do anything if she knew he was there. He froze when he saw what she was doing. She was throwing herself against the cage again and again, and he could see the pain and the frustration in her eyes each time she struck the bars. It was almost pitiful. He approached the front of her cage.

After a while, she stopped. She swayed slightly, dizzy, before falling forwards onto the floor of her cage. She turned her head away from him.  _Foolish human, I can smell you there._

Harry, surprised, slipped off his invisibility cloak. All the fight seemed to have left the exhausted snake. If snakes could cry, Harry was certain that this one would be sobbing at the moment.

_Are you here to laugh at my pain and misery? How helpless I am in your power?_ She seemed to sigh before saying miserably,  _Please...just kill me already._

_"How long have you been in captivity?"_ Harry asked gently.

_I don't know. Three years, I think. Might have been longer._

" _You haven't given up for that long?"_

_No._

" _Why now?"_

_Because sooner or later, I'll have to face the truth. I'll never be free. Not until the day I die._

Seeing the crushed spirit of the once fierce snake made Harry's heart ache with pity. She reminded him too much of his past. He left her alone the rest of the day, and that night, he made his decision.

…

_What madness is this?!_

" _I'm setting you free. Isn't that what you want?"_ Harry panted as he carried the snake cage several miles away from the manor. She was heavy. He finally put the cage down and sat beside it. The snake was staring at him in disbelief.  _"Isn't it? Because I would be flattered if you want to continue living with me."_

She continued to stare at him.

Harry rolled his eyes.  _"Lighten up! You're about to get your freedom,"_ he said, forcing his tone to sound playful. He reached forward to open the latch on the cage. He swallowed nervously, trying to hide his fear. However, his trembling hands gave him away. This was an angry, venomous snake he was letting out of the cage, and he didn't think to take precautions. Which he had to admit was stupid of him.

Dumbfounded, the snake hesitated before slithering out of her cage slowly. Then, she rose up to her full height, her mouth opened wide in a terrifying display of fangs and forked tongue.

Harry let out a cry of shock, falling backwards away from her. The snake towered over him, hissing and glaring, before she struck. He shut his eyes and felt a rush of wind by his right ear.

_I won't kill you, human. Only because I'm grateful that you let me free._

Harry opened his eyes to see her tail disappear into the forest, and he let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.  _Proud but honorable. That snake really doesn't belong in a cage._ Due to convenience, he visited Riley's grave on his way back to the Manor.

"Riley, a lot of things have happened in the last year. I released a snake today. She didn't like living with me, so I let her go. I think you'd approve." Harry touched the tombstone and closed his eyes, imagining Riley's attentive eyes. "I comforted a mother dragon in her last moments and raised her son. Not everything has been easy, but still I'm happy."

The wind was starting to blow. Was a storm coming? Harry could deal with a bit of rain to spend a few more moments with his friend.

"I know this will sound really weird coming from me. I'm not even ten. I will be soon though. But I think I want to…" Harry paused, trying to find the right words. "I want to dedicate my life to others. Everything I do for others makes me happy."

The wind blew harder, and he shivered. "I don't think there's anything more fulfilling."

A bright light lit up the entire field, warming the air and calming the winds. He heard a sound – not with his ears but inside him. It was musical, and it filled him with peace. And then he felt a comforting weight on his shoulder.

It was a large red bird. Its scarlet feathers shimmered, and the golden tips of its wings and tail shone.

Harry recognized the creature immediately. "Hullo," he greeted softly, awestruck.

The phoenix stared at him, and the two stayed in that position for a while, neither making a sound.

Finally, Harry smiled in understanding and ran his fingers through her feathers.  _Riley, I wish you could see this._  "Aurora," he said solemnly.

When he arrived at the Manor, he froze at the sight greeting him. On the top step of the stairs leading to the entrance, a large king cobra was waiting for him, reared up to full height. "Are you here to kill me?" Harry asked, surprisingly unafraid.

The snake grabbed something in her mouth before slithering towards Harry. She dropped it into his hand.

Harry blinked. It was a dead rat.

_I've had time to think about it. I'm a bit tired of solidarity. Someone who has given me my freedom can't be bad. I'm not so ignorant as to let go of an opportunity to bond with someone so kind. There are so few of them among men and animal._ She bowed her head.

Harry glanced at the rat. He appreciated the sentiment, but...  _"You're not expecting me to eat this, are you?"_

Her reply sounded amused.  _If you really want to, you're welcome to it._

_Oh_. Harry held the rat out in his palm, and the snake lowered her head onto his hand and swallowed the rat whole.  _"Sasha."_ He was feeding her. Her head was in his hand. Master and familiar.  _"I thought you wanted to be free."_

_I am._


	6. Meetings at Madam Malkin's

It happened every year at Madam Malkin's. The Hogwarts letters were sent out, and squeals of excitement could be heard in homes all over Great Britain. This year, Harry got his letter as well. And he celebrated, of course, by selling robes to his future classmates. He was prepared for the influx of rising Hogwarts students to Madam Malkin's shop. After years of working there, he was very proficient.

"Um…hello?"

Harry turned to see a nervous looking boy staring at him. "Hello! Can I help you - ?"

"Justin." The boy replied promptly. "Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Harry smiled. "Can I help you, Master Justin?"

Justin nodded. Coughing to clear his throat, he stammered out, "I need robes for Hogwarts. But…um…I'm not really from a Wizarding family, so I don't really know how to…you know…"

"No worries. That's what I'm here for." Harry motioned for Justin to step in front of a mirror. Immediately, a measuring tape began to measure Justin's arms, chest, legs, torso, and anything else it can reach. Harry laughed when the other boy slapped it away from measuring the distance between his eyes. "It can be a bit too enthusiastic."

"It's really cool though!"

Curious about Justin's background, Harry asked, "So you're Muggle-born?"

Justin nodded. "My mum had qualms about letting me go to Hogwarts, but I'd rather go train as a wizard than go to Eton."

Harry whistled. "Eton? Your family must be pretty well off." He skimmed the measurements. "I'll be back with the full requirements – three sets of work robes, a pointed hat, protective gloves, and a winter cloak. Any extras you want – cloaks, robes, scarves?"

"Any that you recommend?" Justin asked.

Harry tapped his chin thoughtfully. "I think an extra set would be good." He winked. "Just in case you forget to put your clothes in the laundry. Or lose them. Or have them stolen." He laughed when Justin immediately asked for two extra sets. "I'll be right back." He left and came back to find Justin busy admiring himself in front of the mirror with dress robes on.

"Mum, aren't these robes so cool?" Justin was saying.

"You do look handsome," his mother replied, giving him an affectionate look.

"Would you like a set of dress robes, too, Master Justin?" Harry set down the bags of clothes. "Although maroon silk does look good on you, I think navy blue velvet would be a better choice. But of course, that's just my humble opinion."

"Can I try one on?" Justin asked enthusiastically. He turned to his mom. "He really knows his stuff, Mum! It's like he was borne for this!"

Harry bowed slightly. "Welcome to Madam Malkin's, Mrs. Finch-Fletchley." Seeing her questioning look, he supplied, "Harry. Harry Potter. I'm Madam Malkin's apprentice."

"A pleasure to meet you. It's good to see such nice people in the Wizarding world." She smiled nervously. "Do you go to Hogwarts by any chance?"

Harry nodded. "Yes, Ma'am. It will be my first year, too."

"That's good." She appeared relieved. "We're not a wizard family, so it's assuring to know that he'll have friends before going to school. That he'll fit in."

"He'll be fine. Many muggleborns go to Hogwarts and succeed." He glanced at Justin, who was struggling with the navy blue dress robes. Harry hurried over to help him before standing back, smug. "Now that's what I call a perfect match."

Justin twirled around. "Wow!" He stared at his reflection. "Navy blue really does look good on me. Can I have a set, Mum? Please please please!"

His mom turned to Harry, seeking advice.

Harry said to Justin patiently, "For most people, formal parties and such don't happen until you're in your third or fourth year at Hogwarts. You'll grow by then. It's best to get dress robes only when you need them because they're very expensive. But of course, I won't stop you from buying them if you really to."

Justin deflated.

Harry frowned, not liking disappointing anyone. He disappeared behind the racks before reappearing with three scarves. "Do you know the four Hogwarts Houses, Master Justin?"

The other boy shook his head.

"Hogwarts has four Houses. Gryffindor. Hufflepuff. Ravenclaw. Slytherin." He gestured to the scarves. "They're grey now, but once you get sorted into your House, they'll transform to have your House's colors and emblem." He dropped them into Justin's arms and grinned. "Only three galleons."

Justin's face lit up. He was practically bouncing when he asked his mom to buy the scarves.

Harry felt quite good about himself. After directing the duo to Flourish and Blotts for their books, he moved on to the next customers. "Can I help you?" he asked a couple.  _Muggles,_ he immediately noted from their clothes and lost expressions.

Their daughter marched up to him. "I need robes for Hogwarts," she said.

Harry was taken aback by her straightforwardness. However, instinctively knowing that she was only trying to cover up her nervousness, he smiled and said, "Please over here, Miss…uh…"

"Hermione Granger," she replied, stepping forward in front of the mirror.

Harry paused. Her name sounded familiar. Shaking his head, he continued. "Let me just take your measurements, Miss Hermione. How is Diagon Alley so far?" he asked as he wrote down her measurements.

"It's been absolutely delightful! We went to buy books first, and I wanted to buy the entire store! There's so much to learn! And I feel like I'm so behind! I didn't even know I was a witch until I got my letter. My parents were so shocked but pleased. It explained the weird things that have been happening around me, you know…" she trailed off, flushing. "Sorry, I talk a lot."

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry about it. I like listening. I'll be right back, Miss Hermione." He left and returned with the required sets of clothes. "I have some extras in there if you want. It's recommended that you buy extra sets." He paused thoughtfully before offering, "My family owns an entire library. If you want to borrow some, I can send some over."

Hermione stared at him wide-eyed, speechless. "Really? That's so generous of you!" Then, for the first time since entering the shop, she appeared shy. "I don't want to be a bother, but do you by any chance have  _Hogwarts, A History?_ "

Harry nodded. "I do. It's a good read. It'll tell you a lot about the place before you even go there." He handed her the bags. "29 Galleons, 13 Sickles, and 13 Knuts please. And I'll send you the book later, Miss Hermione."

As they left, he heard Mr. Granger say to his daughter, "I can't believe you got that boy into your book obsession."

…

"Straighten up, Draco. Chin high," Lucius said to his son quietly so that no one would hear him.

"Yes, Father." Draco straightened his back and lifted his chin. It was a psychologically uncomfortable position because he was in a mass of strangers. And Crabbe and Goyle weren't there. Even if they were a thickheaded bunch, their presence would have been comforting. Not that he would ever tell his father that. No, he would make his father proud.

"I'll see to buying you a broom. Go get yourself fitted at Madam Malkin's."

"Yes, Father." However, Draco still hesitated to separate from his father. Taking a deep breath, he entered the shop. He looked around for Madam Malkin and found her busy with two other customers. Instead, he was greeted by a boy about his age.

"Hello!" Harry said cheerfully. "Welcome to Madam Malkin's! Can I help you?"

There was a silence. "What's with your hair?" Draco blurted out.

Harry blinked. "Pardon?"

"Your. Hair," Draco punctuated. "Don't you brush it?"

Harry stared before he burst out laughing.

Draco bristled, offended. It was a legitimate question. How dare this  _peasant_ laugh at him! Wait until his father hears about this!

Harry stopped laughing when he saw the look on Draco's face. "What's wrong?" he asked, concerned.

"You're laughing at me!" Draco huffed. The accusation sounded childish even to him, but he couldn't stop himself. No one had ever  _laughed_ at him before.

"I'm not laughing at you…uh…"

"Draco Malfoy," Draco said importantly.

"I'm not laughing at you, Master Draco," Harry said, trying to placate the indignant boy. "It's just that you're the first in a while to have been so frank. It took me by surprise is all."

"Oh…" Draco was speechless for a second. Then he coughed. "Anyway, I need robes for Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts, too?" Harry asked brightly. "Everyone's asking for Hogwarts robes today. If you could follow me, Master Draco..." He led Draco in front of a mirror. The measuring tape sprang up to measure Draco's arms.

"Are you going to Hogwarts?" Draco asked. The boy looked about the right age to be going to Hogwarts. Unless he was a Squib. Draco mentally gagged. If he was a Squib, Draco was hightailing out of there.

"Yep. First year." Harry grinned. "I can tell you are, too. I think I would have remembered seeing you last year."

_Definitely smarter than Crabbe and Goyle._ Draco was starting to like this boy. Even if he was a peasant working in a shop in Diagon Alley. "Mother's looking at wands, and Father's off to look at broomsticks. I think I'll bully him into buying me one," he drawled, hoping to impress the boy.

Harry flinched, almost dropping his quill and parchment. Draco sounded just like Dudley right then. Forcing a smile on his face when the other boy gave him a strange look, he resumed recording Draco's measurements with trembling hands. "Sorry. My hand slipped."

Draco launched into a self-important speech. "My father said it would be a  _crime_  if I'm not selected to play for my House team. I think that rule is stupid – don't you? – that first years aren't allowed their own broomsticks. I've been practicing at home though, and I'm pretty good. Do you play Quidditch?" He hoped the boy played Quidditch. It wouldn't be fun if he didn't.

Harry's eyes lit up. "I've never had anyone to play it with. I do fly though."

Draco almost let out a breath of relief. Thank Merlin. "Planning on trying for the House team?" He didn't wait for Harry's answer. "My family's always been in Slytherin. I'm pretty sure I'll be in it, too. Imagine if I am sorted into Hufflepuff." He shivered, causing the measuring tape to smack him upside the head for moving in the middle of a measurement. "Ow, you stupid thing!" He glared at it until the tape went back to its business. "Anyway, I think I would leave, wouldn't you?"

"I don't think Hufflepuff would be too bad. The characteristics that define that House are loyalty and - "

"- completely stupid," Draco interrupted him. "Why would you want to be loyal instead of clever? That sort of thinking would just get you killed."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "But wouldn't you want to protect those you love? Wouldn't you protect your parents if it costs you your life?"

Draco frowned. "That's different. They're my  _parents._ "

"It's still loyalty."

Draco huffed before conceding grudgingly, "Fine. But I still don't want to end up in that House." He was answered with silence, and he wondered if he had offended his potential friend. "Do you know what House you'll end up in?" he asked, hoping to smooth things over. He just hoped the boy wouldn't say 'Hufflepuff.' Or 'Gryffindor' for that matter.

Harry shrugged. "All my family has been in Gryffindor. I'll probably end up there, too."

Draco recoiled in disgust. "You're a  _Gryffindor_?" There went the potentiality of friendship.

Harry raised an eyebrow. "What's wrong with Gryffindor?"

"That House is full of blood traitors!"

Harry smirked and stepped closer to Draco, who stepped back from him as though afraid that he would contaminate him with his Gryffindorkness. Harry poked Draco in the forehead playfully. "And Slytherin has a reputation for being full of Dark Wizards."

Draco blinked. Did the boy just make a  _comeback?_ He placed a hand to his forehead. "You cretin! Don't poke me like that!"

Harry chuckled. Despite being somewhat unpleasant, Draco can be amusing. "Oh, lighten up, future Prince of Slytherin."

_Prince of Slytherin._ Draco liked the sound of that. "Malfoys do not 'lighten up'! Especially not when a Gryffindor pokes them in the forehead with no respect for their personal space!" he said, glaring at Harry.

Harry smiled placatingly before putting his hands up in surrender. "Oh, alright, alright…I'm sorry, Master Draco. I'm a cretin. What do you expect from a commoner?"

To Draco's and Harry's surprise, Harry's response pulled a snort from Draco, who immediately turned red in embarrassment. It was so unbecoming of a Malfoy! And it only added to his embarrassment when Harry laughed. "Stop laughing at me!" When Harry seemed deaf to his request, in anger, Draco shoved him backwards with all his strength.

Harry's eyes widened in surprise as he crashed into the mirror behind him. The mirror toppled over him and cracked upon hitting him.

"Draco!"

Draco saw his father standing in the doorway, his eyes wide and staring disbelievingly at his son. He turned and saw all the shop's customers gawking at him. Madam Malkin was frozen, open-mouthed, her parchment and quill on the floor. All his anger left him in an instant. He wanted to say it was an accident. He didn't mean to hurt anyone…

"I'm sorry, Master Draco. If I had offended you."

Draco spun around to see Harry struggling to sit up. He swallowed when a trickle of blood could be seen running down the side of Harry's head. He had never been fond of blood. "I…" He didn't know what to say. He then felt his father's arm around his shoulders.

"Draco, come."

Draco didn't protest. He turned for one last glance at the boy and saw Madam Malkin rushing to his side. Guilt gnawed at him. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy. It had been an accident. But it was the boy's fault in the first place! For laughing at him! The thought wasn't comforting. Draco felt terrible. The boy wasn't bad company, despite him being a soon-to-be Gryffindor. Maybe he wouldn't even be sorted in Gryffindor. Maybe he would be sorted in Slytherin. They could have been friends! "Father, I didn't mean to push him..."

Lucius sighed before saying through clenched teeth, "Next time, control your temper, Draco. You were in public."

…

Harry winced. It was giving him a headache just walking. He gingerly lowered himself onto one of the armchairs by his fireplace and glanced at the bags he had taken home. Some of the robes were for him. But some were for Draco – he had his measurements after all. Harry rubbed his temple. "Holly?"

A young house elf came at his call immediately. "Yes, Master Harry, Sir?"

"Before I forget, can you grab  _Hogwarts, A History_ from the library? And a parchment and quill?"

"Yes, Sir!" Holly was gone and back before long.

"Thank you." He wrote a quick note on the parchment:

_Hermione,_

_Here is Hogwarts, A History as promised. Just return it when school starts. I'll see you then. Enjoy!_

_Harry Potter_

"Hedwig!" he called. "Deliver this to Hermione Granger, alright? Here's a treat for good luck."

She hooted her thanks before flying out an open window, the note and package on leg.

Harry saw her off before sighing. Now, the bigger problem...

…

Draco was moping in his room. His father was unhappy with him because he made him lose face in public. And he lost a potential friend. Someone who liked flying and Quidditch!

"Master Draco, Sir…"

"What is it?" Draco snapped at the fearful house elf. "Can you not see that I don't want to be disturbed?"

"But, Sir, someone wants to see you downstairs."

"This had better be important!" he snarled, stomping out of his room. If it was Crabbe or Goyle, he was going to use them as punching bags or something…He took a deep breath. He didn't want to lose face again if the person turned out to be of some importance. He took several more calming breaths before walking towards the front door. When he saw who it was, he froze before blurting out, "What are you doing here?"

Harry shifted uncomfortably before gesturing to the bags of robes on the floor. "Peace offering?"

Draco stared. The boy looked ridiculous. His head was bandaged up, and his hair was even messier than it was at the shop. However, all that came out of Draco's mouth was "You came all the way here for  _that_?"

Harry winced. "Well I did have your measurements. And I want to say sorry for what happened today. I didn't know you would get so upset."

"I was not upset," Draco protested indignantly.

Harry's lips twitched. "Oh, alright…" he said. "Angry then."

Draco frowned. He felt he was more to blame than the other was, but his pride held him back from apologizing.  _Oh, well, he already apologized,_ Draco reasoned.  _No need for me to apologize, too._ "I forgive you," he said imperiously.

Harry held out his hand. "35 galleons, 12 sickles, 5 knuts." He smirked. "You didn't think the peace offering was free, did you?"

Draco glared. "You're an ass."

"Yeah, I'm a pretty darn good one, carrying everything to your front door."

Draco let out a snort of laughter. He turned red again at the undignified sound, expecting Harry to laugh before realizing that this time, Harry was not laughing at him.

Harry smiled. "You know, you don't look half as unpleasant as you usually do when you laugh. Laughter looks good on you, Draco." After a silence, he prompted again, "C'mon, cough up. Madam Malkin would kill me if I give you all these for free."

Draco glared at him again before counting out the money and handing it over in a small pouch.

"Thank you," Harry said, slipping it into his robes.

"Draco, who is this?"

Draco turned around to see his father glaring daggers at Harry. He didn't know why though – he was pretty sure his father had never met the boy before. "Father, he's the boy at Madam Malkin's. He's just here to deliver the robes." Draco turned questioning eyes towards Harry. "Who are you anyway?"

Before Harry could answer, Lucius snarled, "Get out. Now."

Startled, Harry started for the door. Before he left, he caught snippets of the conversation between father and son.

"Father, what's wrong?" Draco asked, surprised at his father's anger.

"I would recognize that face anywhere," Lucius hissed. "Looks just like his father…I can't believe you let a half-blood on our property, Draco! I didn't get a good look at his face earlier today, but a half-blood on our property! Our property!"

Harry closed the door behind him. He didn't lie. Draco should smile more often.


	7. Pride and Prejudice

10:45am. The platform was full of children and parents exchanging hugs and kisses before the children were sent off to Hogwarts. Many of the children were impatient to get onto the train for their next year of adventure.

Not Harry.

Harry's focus was entirely on Madam Malkin. The woman was hiding her sadness by fussing over his trunk and making sure he had everything he needed. Another child his age might get exasperated with his parents' doting, but knowing how much the woman loved him, Harry made no sound of complaint. He knew the days leading up to his leaving had been hard on her – Harry couldn't remember the last time he and Madam Malkin had been without each other's company for more than a day or two.

"I think that's everything, dear…" Madam Malkin said, straightening up.

"Thank you, Madam Malkin," Harry said sincerely.

"You be good now, alright? Don't fight, and don't cause trouble for your teachers."

"I won't, Madam Malkin. Promise."

"And remember – take pride in your appearance. Try to comb your hair."

"I will, Madam Malkin."

At his words, she became silent before shaking her head. "Look at me, acting like your mother. I have no right, and yet you continue to indulge this old lady."

Harry took her hand, surprising her, and said honestly, the words harsh but his tone gentle, "You're right. You're not my mother. And you can't take the place Mum has in my heart." Then he kissed the top of her hand and spoke into her hand, "I can't directly give her the love and honor she deserves. But I think she'd be happy to consider the love and honor I give to you as love and honor I would have given to her. I don't think she's the jealous type. You can continue acting as my mother. And I will continue to obey and love you as a son."

Madam Malkin stared before pulling Harry into a hug, burying her face into his hair. "Do you know, Harry, that you don't talk like an eleven-year-old?"

Harry wouldn't know – he didn't spend enough time with other eleven-year-olds to find out how they talked. But it was something he thought about a lot – was he doing his real mother a disservice, the woman who sacrificed her life for him as a baby out of her love for him, by loving Madam Malkin as a mother? And the more he thought about it, the more the answer leaned towards no.

"You will write to me every week, won't you?"

"Of course, Madam Malkin," Harry replied. "Until you get sick of it." A warning whistle from the train sounded, and he heaved his trunk onto the train. "I'll see you Christmas," he promised and again kissed her hand comfortingly. The train began to move, and he waved to her until she was out of sight.

…..

Harry entered an empty compartment and heaved his trunk onto the overhead rack. He heard a soft hiss to his right and turned around, reaching out with his hand blindly. He felt the soft fabric of his invisibility cloak and pulled it off of Sasha.

_"My lord, what is the meaning of this?" Sasha gasped, not in anger for she had an honor code - she would die before going against the will of her master – but in shock and fear._

_"Oh, this is how I'm taking you onto the train with me. I've told you most people would probably get a heart attack from seeing you roaming free," Harry said, surprised at her extreme reaction. "Is it not comfortable for you?"_

_Sasha considered the box warily. No, it was very comfortable. At least physically. It was clear that Harry had put a lot of thought into its construction. But even though it didn't have bars, it reminded her of the cage she had been stuck in for months. "No, my lord, it looks very comfortable," she said softly, resigned to obey if he really wanted her to be put away into a box. She could imagine the trouble it would cause if people were screaming from the mere sight of her._

_Harry frowned. "Sasha, I can't read your mind, but I can tell something is bothering you. Tell me."_

_"It reminds me of the cage I was once put in. It doesn't look anything like it, and I am thankful for that. But it still reminds me." She bowed her head. "Of course, if you think it best, I won't argue."_

_Harry hummed as he thought. "Actually, if it bothers you that much, I have a better idea. You might even have some fun with it." He chuckled before laying his hand on her head, the snake not flinching away as was instinct for snakes to do. "Sometimes I find it hard to believe you're the same snake that hated me so much once upon a time. Seriously, what happened to all the wishing to kill me?"_

_Sasha was too proud and embarrassed to say that she had fallen in love with her master and that her heart was completely devoted to him. She had been scornful of the idea of familiars for a long time, believing that it was simply a way for humans to boost their pride, lording their authority over their pets. She knew better now the bond between a true master and a true familiar, a relationship built upon the master looking out for his familiar and their best interests and the familiar trusting in the decisions of the master. It wasn't about pride._

" _Did you enjoy yourself, Sasha?"_ Harry asked.

_Not particularly_.  _You must be an exception to the norm for human children. They are loud and obnoxious without a shred of dignity._

As though to emphasize her words, loud yelling could be heard outside of their compartment. Curious, Harry opened the door.

"No way you're Harry Potter. You don't have the scar."

"I never said  _I_  was Harry Potter, you idiot! I said Harry Potter is here, as in on this train! He's eleven by now!"

_"Sasha, let's find a different compartment."_ Harry grabbed his trunk and pulled his invisibility cloak over himself as Sasha slithered up his shoulders. He would face his undeserved fame soon enough, but for now, he just wanted some peace and quiet.

"Give it back! I need to return it to him!"

So much for peace and quiet. However, that voice sounded familiar. He followed it to see Hermione facing off against three boys and another girl. Keeping his invisibility cloak on, he watched the scene unfold.

"You expect me to believe that Harry Potter – one of the most famous wizards in the world - lent you this book? Don't be ridiculous, Granger."

"It's true!"

"Listen, I know muggleborns feel the need to be noticed by magical folk, but you don't have to go to such lengths!"

"I'm not lying! And I don't need your approval!"

"Alright then, tell us how you met him. This will be good."

"He was working at Madam Malkin's…"

"What? Hold up…"

"I can't imagine Harry Potter working at a robes shop. I mean, it's a respectable profession, but I hear he's from a pretty wealthy family. Why would he be working? If I have that money, I'd be playing Quidditch all day!"

"Yeah, that doesn't really make sense, Granger. Can't you come up with a better story?"

"I told you that I'm not lying! The boy working there said so himself that he's Harry Potter! Maybe he wants to make something of himself instead of playing all day!"

"Anyone could say they're Harry Potter. He was probably just messing around. I remember the bloke working there was pretty hilarious. But the important thing is - did you see his scar? That would prove it."

"I-I didn't look. But I don't think he would lie to me."

Harry felt his heart warm at her words. Not many people would have believed him without requiring physical proof.

"Granger, as much as you would like to think you have met Harry Potter, just admit it, alright? You haven't. No one here has. The only reason we think he's on this train is because someone pointed out that it's about ten years since You-Know-Who had been defeated." The boy handed Harry's copy of  _Hogwarts, A History_  back to Hermione. "Here's your book back. Just don't go around thinking you're more important than the rest of us, Granger. If a boy tells you he's Harry Potter, and he's really Harry Potter, he would have told others as well." With that, they left Hermione blushing bright red with embarrassment.

But then she straightened herself up and said to herself haughtily, "Idiots! Thinking they know him by imagining him as their clone! I don't know why anyone would respect that vision of Harry Potter." She walked off, as proud and confident as he remembered her to be when she approached him in Madam Malkin's shop.

With a smile on his face, Harry pulled off his invisibility cloak and opened the door to what he thought was an empty compartment.

…

_"Why are you angry, father?" Draco asked, confused._

_"You let a half-blood into our home, Draco! A half-blood!"_

_"I'm sorry, father, I didn't know. But who was that anyway? How do you know him?"_

_"That, Draco, is Harry Potter."_

_Draco gawked. "Harry Potter is a half-blood?" How could a half-blood wizard be so powerful as to defeat You-Know-Who? And as a baby no less!_

_"Yes, Draco, he is. I was in school with his father." His father looked as though he had just chewed on a whole lemon. "He was a prodigy. A brilliant duelist. Played Quidditch like he was born for it. But then he went off and married that mudblood Lily Evans. Waste of pure blood."_

_"Father, how did a half-blood defeat You-Know-Who?"_

_His father didn't have an answer for him._

Draco had told Crabbe and Goyle to leave him be for the rest of the train ride. He had spoken to Harry Potter and actually  _injured_ him, the boy whose name he had heard spoken in thanks and awe since he was a baby. He had been Draco's childhood hero - Draco often imagined himself and Harry Potter becoming best of friends and mastering all sorts of magic together.

Of course Draco's parents didn't talk much about what happened ten years ago, but whenever they went to parties, especially political ones, people would often talk about Harry Potter, the one who conquered the darkest wizard of the age. No one ever mentioned that he was a halfblood though.

Hence the dilemma. His father could not stomach the thought of his son befriending a halfblood. And Draco had to agree with him - he had ordered the house elves to wash his robes at least ten times after the boy left.  _If only he were pureblooded, he wouldn't have been bad company_ , he lamented.

Suddenly the door opened, revealing what appeared to be Harry Potter searching for a compartment. Draco pulled himself together from his initial surprise and said coldly, "What are you doing here? And don't call me Draco. I'm not your friend."

Harry flinched at the hostility, but nonetheless, he asked, "Can I sit here?"

Draco folded his arms across his chest in irritation, even as he was pleased that Harry Potter wanted to sit with him of all people. He wasn't so aloof that he didn't notice people running around searching for Harry Potter and failing to find him. "My father doesn't want me to associate with someone like you. You're a halfblood. I'm a pureblood. I don't want to be anywhere near you." Inwardly he cringed. It was hard getting rid of the admiration he had for Harry Potter as a child. Here was his hero, and his hero wanted to sit with him. And he was pushing him away.

Harry frowned before catching Draco off guard: "Do you have a dog or a cat or any other pet?"

Draco was so surprised he stuttered through his response, "We have two dogs. Why does that matter to you?"

"Do they have any magical blood in them? Are they pureblooded do you think?"

"That's stupid, Potter. You've lost it. Of course dogs can't be pureblooded."

"Do you let your dogs sit with you?"

Draco didn't know where this was going but decided to humor him, "Of course I do. And I suppose you're going to ask if I play and talk to them next. And the answer is obviously yes. What is your point?"

"Don't I have more magical blood than they do? Why can't I sit with you?"

Draco's mouth hung open as he struggled for an argument. But then a strange sense of discomfort washed over him. His hero had just implied that he was jealous of his  _dogs_ for being allowed to sit next to him. Draco was flattered, but not completely in a good way. Mixed in with his pleasure and pride at Harry's earnestness in wanting to sit with him was a feeling of shame.

Harry sighed, his gaze lowered. "I'm sorry to have bothered you."

At the thump of the door sliding into place, Draco felt he was losing something valuable. He wanted Harry to sit with him and talk to him. He wanted to ask him why he was working in a robes shop of all places. He wanted to ask if the other boy had knowledge of any powerful spells. The regret tormented him until he couldn't take it anymore and stood up. He opened his compartment door to call out to Harry before realizing that the other boy was no longer within the vicinity.

Draco walked over to the neighboring compartment and opened the door, revealing two girls reading. He blushed and immediately left. Where could Harry have gone? He couldn't have gone that far...

He opened several more compartment doors, none of which contained the boy who lived. "I'm never going to find him this way," Draco muttered as he closed the last door in the car. He was so frustrated with himself that he could feel his eyes burning with unshed tears.

Finally, he decided to forego his pride and began to call down each car: "Potter! Potter!" It earned him more than a few odd looks as well as a few jabbing remarks ("Your robes are out of place, Malfoy!"). After an hour or so of searching, Draco returned to his compartment dejectedly, his flushed cheeks the only thing to show for his efforts. However, as he approached his destination, he saw the trolley witch talking to someone inside.  _Just my luck. Someone stole my compartment…_

When the trolley witch left, he marched up to his compartment, his patience at its all-time low. He slammed the door open, about to give the people inside a piece of his mind, but then froze.

Harry looked up. "Hullo, Draco."

Draco gawked before asking, "What are you doing here?"

Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're the one who ran down the length of the train calling out my name. I would have expected you to be happier to see me."

Draco cringed in embarrassment. "You saw…heard that?"

"Of course I did. I'd have to be deaf and blind not to." Harry nodded to a pile of treats next to him. "Care for a chocolate frog?"

A burst of anger erupted from Draco's chest. "If you saw and heard me, why didn't you come out, you git? Instead of letting me humiliate myself in front of everyone?"

"I did come out. I was there right behind you from the beginning up until you gave up a few minutes ago."

"You're lying. I would have seen you," Draco snarled.

"'Why would Harry Potter talk to a future Slytherin?'" Harry repeated. "'Stop being so loud, Malfoy.' 'Go yell somewhere else.' 'Don't run, Malfoy, your hair is getting out of place.'"

Confused, Draco asked with a hint of resentment, "Then why did you let me humiliate myself like that? You know how much I hate people laughing at me..." He stopped. Harry's eyes looked so appreciative that he forgot the rest of his thought.

"Yes, I know. And I did think about showing myself a few times, Draco, believe me." Harry lowered his gaze. "But your words did hurt. And for me to see that you were willing to put aside your pride to find me, well, it made me very happy."

All resentment left Draco when he remembered what he said to Harry. Ashamed, he even forgot to feel disgusted by Harry's blood status.

"Hey. You've more than made up for it. And your father doesn't have to know about this." Harry stood up and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco didn't know why he did what he did next. It went against everything in his upbringing, but he was just so happy that he had his hero sitting here, that his hero wanted to be here, and that his hero wanted to be friends with him. He launched himself at the other boy, catching the other completely off-guard.

"Geez, Draco, all I did was sat in your compartment and offered you a chocolate frog!"

…..

"So why were you working at Madam Malkin's anyway? Surely you don't need the money," Draco said as he and Harry changed into their Hogwarts uniforms. "I hear you're from a really wealthy family."

"I like the work. And Madam Malkin needs an assistant. It's not about the money." Harry straightened up.

Draco did not fail to notice that Harry's uniform was much more elegant than his own. There weren't any bells or whistles, but its cut was perfectly tailored to Harry's form. Unlike most of the uniforms where the robes were cut straight down, Harry's hugged his torso and flared out ever so slightly below his waist.

"Father says money is power."

"Mhmm" was Harry's only response as the train slowed down to a stop.

" _Firs'-years! Firs'-years over here!_ "

As they came out, they saw a large man waving them over to a few boats. Draco followed Harry into a boat with Crabbe and Goyle. As they faced each other, Harry nodded at Crabbe and Goyle. "It's a pleasure to meet you…uh…"

Seeing that they were missing Harry's prompting, Draco rolled his eyes and said, "This is Crabbe. And that is Goyle."

"Good to meet you, Crabbe, Goyle."

Crabbe and Goyle looked at each other, uncertain as to how to respond to the friendly greeting.

"You'll soon learn that they're not too smart. All muscle but no brain," Draco said.

"Some people are just late bloomers," Harry said lightly. "Some blooms are uglier than others, but you can never tell until they're fully bloomed."

Draco raised an eyebrow before snorting. "I wouldn't hold my breath for Crabbe or Goyle to 'bloom.'"

Before long, they were led up to the castle into a large hall where an elderly witch waited for them at the top of a flight of stairs. "Thank you, Hagrid," she said to the large man who brought them there. Then, turning to the students, she said, "Welcome to Hogwarts. The start-of-term banquet will begin shortly.

"The Sorting is a very important ceremony because, while you are here, your house will be something like your family within Hogwarts. You will have classes with the rest of your house, sleep in your house dormitory and spend free time in your house common-room.

"The four houses are called Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own noble history and each has produced outstanding wizards and witches. While you are at Hogwarts, your triumphs will earn your house points, while any rule-breaking will lose house points.

"At the end of the year, the house with the most points is awarded the house cup, a great honour. I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours.

"The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting. I shall return for you when we are ready for you. Please wait quietly." And with that, she left them.

A boy marched up to take her spot. "I heard Harry Potter is attending Hogwarts this year. Is this true?" He was answered with excited whispers and restless shifting.

Draco heard Harry's soft sigh to his right before the other boy answered loudly enough for all to hear, "It's true. And he's right here."

"Hey, don't you work at Madam Malkin's?" someone asked.

"I do. And so does Harry Potter." The hall was so silent one could hear a pin drop. "But you probably want proof that I am who I say I am, right?" He lifted up his bangs.

There were gasps as people stared at the lightning shaped scar on Harry's forehead. Even Draco couldn't help but stare. It was such a simple mark. But it was proof that he was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived.

Harry let go of his bangs after people had had their fill of staring. "Hermione, do you think you can return  _Hogwarts, A History_ to me sometime this week?"

Everyone turned to Hermione, who was blushing furiously at the attention. She could only manage a small nod.

The noise died down when the elderly witch made her reappearance. "We're ready for you now."


	8. The Odd One Out

Harry couldn't help but be amazed at the splendor of the Great Hall. Even Draco looked like a gaping fish beside him. At the front of the hall was a stool on which sat an old looking hat, which suddenly burst into song:

_Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_   
_But don't judge on what you see,_   
_I'll eat myself if you can find_   
_A smarter hat than me…_

When the song ended, Professor McGonagall opened a roll of parchment and said, "When I call out your name, you will come forth to get sorted."

Harry watched as each sorted first year approach their house, the corresponding house erupting into cheers. For not the first time, he felt out of his element. The loud expressions of emotion were very foreign, even uncomfortable, to him. Neither he, Madam Malkin, nor Dumbledore expressed their enthusiasm and excitement that way.

"Hermione Granger."

Harry found himself rather interested in her sorting.

"Gryffindor!"

The grin that lit up Hermione's face before she joined her house at their table was quite contagious.

"Harry?"

Harry turned to Draco, who was looking unhappily resigned. "What is it?" he asked, confused as to how anyone could be miserable during what seemed to be a cause for celebration at Hogwarts.

Draco seemed to struggle with himself before asking so quietly that Harry almost missed his words, "What if we're in separate houses? All my family has been in Slytherin. I probably will, too. You'll probably be in Gryffindor."

Harry still didn't see why that would make Draco so miserable.

"Harry, Slytherins and Gryffindors hate each other."

"Draco Malfoy."

Draco paled and went forward to take his seat on the stool. When the hat descended upon his head, there was a long deliberation, so long in fact that some people began to whisper, wondering if he would get sorted at all.

"Gryffindor!"

When McGonagall pulled the hat off Draco's head, Harry thought he caught a flash of surprise in her eyes. Draco looked too shocked to move, and it wasn't until McGonagall gave a cough that he got off the stool and made his way towards the Gryffindor table, which did not immediately erupt into cheers. When they did clap, it was noticeably quieter and politer than the previous cheers.

Draco didn't seem at all comforted.

"Harry Potter."

The entire hall fell silent. Harry took a deep breath and approached the stool. The hat barely touched his head when it cried out, "Gryffindor!" A deafening noise could be heard from the Gryffindor table. And as he walked over, people were clapping him on the back and shaking his hand...Harry looked up at the teachers' table to see Dumbledore beam at him.

Two older students, whom he later identified as Fred and George Weasley, began singing, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Elated, Harry sat down next to his friend. "So we're not in separate houses."

Draco managed a small forced smile.

….

"So, Harry, we hear you work at Madam Malkin's shop in Diagon Alley," Fred (George?) Weasley said as he dug into the food. "What's it like?"

"It's fun. I learn a lot, working there since I was 8-9ish," Harry said as he helped himself to the steak.

"I'm still trying to wrap my head around the fact that you've been hiding underneath our noses all this time." George (Fred?) said. "Who would have thought...Harry Potter as a tailor's assistant?"

"Well no one ever really bothered asking me my name," he replied. "You probably wouldn't have believed me even if I told you."

"Yeah, you're right." Fred looked thoughtful. Suddenly his mouth dropped open. "Wait...George..."

George was gaping alongside his twin. "Our robes..."

"We got them..."

"...when he was working at the shop!"

"That means..." They both stared at Harry.

"What?" Harry asked, bemused.

They both grabbed at their robes. "Our robes were made by you?"

Harry blinked owlishly before letting out a laugh, all of Gryffindor table turning towards him in curiosity. " _That_ amazes you two? Yes, most of your school robes were made by me. Madam Malkin takes care of the dress robes and the more complicated stuff." Seeing all the Gryffindors tugging self-consciously at their robes, he said, "If your robes have a small 'H' on the bottom hem, it was made by me. 'M' if by Madam Malkin." He lowered his head sheepishly. "I-If any of my robes come apart, I do apologize and would happily repair them at no cost to you."

"Relax, Harry!" One of the twins waved him off. "We've had these robes for almost two years, and they're still in tip-top shape."

Harry's eyes shone. "Oh that's good to know. That means the De-fading Charm placed on them is still working."

The twins looked at each other. "De-fading Charm? Mum would kill to know it."

Harry chuckled. "She won't be able to find it at Flourish and Blotts." At their confused looks, he explained, "It's proprietary information. Invented based on modifications to an existing charm."

"It must wear off after three years then," Percy chimed in. "My robes are definitely fading."

"Your robes don't have the charm placed on them," Harry said, glancing at Percy's robes.

Percy looked surprised. "And why is that?"

"The charm was invented less than two years ago. I expect that the charm won't wear off for at least a few more years."

"Wasn't that right after you began working for Madam Malkin, Harry?" Fred asked, eyebrows furrowing. He glanced at George. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, brother?"

"What are you two talking about?" Percy asked, suspicious.

"Harry invented the charm!" the twins chorused.

Harry choked on his potatoes.

"You two are ridiculous," Percy sighed, rolling his eyes. "How could Harry, without any knowledge of Charms theory, invent a new charm?"

"It isn't a new charm, Percy. He said it is an existing charm with modifications. Modifying an existing charm is not nearly as hard as inventing an entirely new one."

Harry shifted nervously. "You two think too highly of me."

"You know of any powerful magic, Harry?" Ron Weasley asked him, his mouth stuffed full a second later.

"Not really. I got my wand only recently, just like everyone else."

"See?" Percy said triumphantly. "He didn't even have his wand until this summer!"

George smirked, making Harry more uncomfortable. "He didn't need his own wand. I bet Madam Malkin was more than happy to let you borrow her wand every so often, huh, Harry? Well, Harry? Did you or did you not come up with the charm?" The Gryffindor table suddenly got quiet.

Harry stammered, "I-I mean technically I didn't come up with it. The original charm was invented by someone else, and the theory was already laid out. Anyone could have done it. I-I just thought it would be a useful thing to have around the shop..."

Ron gaped and interrupted his ramble, "Blimey, Harry..."

Harry shook his head. "It wasn't like that at all, Ron. The modifications weren't difficult - they were incredibly simple actually..."

"Brilliant..."

Harry's cheeks turned red. "You're blowing things out of proportion. You can make the modifications with the knowledge of Charms theory you get from the first one or two months at Hogwarts."

"But you don't see Percy coming up with them," Ron pointed out, Percy looking miffed in response.

"Don't worry, little Potter," Fred winked. "We'll keep your little secret. Although I don't know why you're keeping it secret."

"I just don't want people making a big deal out of nothing," Harry replied, glancing at the rest of the table. Many Gryffindors turned away and pretended not to have been listening. "Can we please just drop this?"

Ron shrugged. "Fine with me. I don't want to talk about Charms before classes even start."

...

As Harry and the Weasleys talked, the latter grated more and more on Draco's nerves. Did Harry not realize that the Weasleys should be beneath both his and Draco's notice? He couldn't even congratulate Harry on his amazing achievement because the Weasleys were practically crowding the conversation.

"Draco, are you okay?"

Draco was snapped out of his moping by Harry's concerned voice. "I'm fine," he said petulantly.

Harry raised an eyebrow.

"He's probably salty for being sorted into Gryffindor," Ron said helpfully. "His whole family's been in Slytherin."

"Don't act like you know me, Weasel," Draco said coldly.

Ron seemed taken aback. "I was just taking a guess, Malfoy."

"Well stop doing it. Gryffindors aren't known for their brains. Trying to use yours might give you a concussion."

"Draco."

Draco turned to Harry. Harry had been laughing a few minutes ago. All traces of laughter were gone now. "What, Potter?" he snapped mutinously, regretting immediately his usage of Harry's last name even as his hackles rose.

However, Harry didn't look angry or even hurt. "Draco, you're a Gryffindor now. Don't run away from who you are," he said gently.

Draco wanted to tell him that it wasn't the Sorting that bothered him the most. Rather, it was  _Harry_. Harry, who was rapidly gaining friends. Harry, who didn't mind who wanted to be friends with him. Draco hated the idea of having to compete with other people for his hero's attention. Not that he would lose of course, because what did the Weasleys have to offer Harry that Draco himself didn't? But still… He was taken out of his thoughts when Harry pushed his shoulder playfully.

"Come on, Prince of Gryffindor. I can promise you the steak tastes quite good."

Draco couldn't help rolling his eyes at his new title, but he was in a better mood as he dug into his steak. "And you would do well not to forget your place, plebeian." Harry's laughter soothed his worried and jealous heart. And Ron's confused look was an added bonus.

The rest of the feast went relatively smoothly. Draco remained quiet, and no one bothered him. Soon they were led towards their dormitories. Draco glanced longingly at the Slytherins before following his house to Gryffindor Tower. The Gryffindor common room was cozy enough. If it weren't for Harry, however, he would have thrown a fit at who his roommates were.

"I don't think I know your names," he heard Harry said to the two others outside of him and Ron.

"Dean Thomas," one of them said cheerfully, offering Harry a hand. "Good to meet you."

"Neville Longbottom," the other said, almost as though he wanted to disappear into the floor.

"Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter. And these are my friends, Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy."

Draco wrinkled his nose disdainfully at Neville before muttering, "What he said." He raised an eyebrow when Neville looked at him fearfully.

Harry yawned before opening his trunk and pulling out a pair of pajamas, oblivious to the uncomfortable dynamics present. "I don't know about you guys, but I'm gonna go to bed. I don't want to get on McGonagall's bad side tomorrow morning."

"Harry, what is that?" Ron squeaked.

"Hmm?" Harry looked to where Ron was pointing. "Oh, that's Sasha, my familiar."

Even Draco was terrified. The snake was huge, coiling up at the foot of Harry's bed.

"Don't worry. She's harmless unless you try to murder me in my sleep," Harry said lightly before stepping into the bathroom to change.

There was a silence before Ron asked, "So does anyone feel comfortable sleeping tonight?"

…

Transfiguration was their first class, and needless to say, Harry was far more excited about that class than his roommates were. He had heard all too often from Dumbledore that his father was quite talented in Transfiguration. When McGonagall transformed from a cat into her human form, like the rest of the class, Harry was impressed. Alas, their lesson was not quite as exciting – it was changing matchsticks into needles and back, which Harry was able to do before the lesson's end. McGonagall gave him a smile before assigning everyone else, with the exception of Hermione, homework.

"I can't wait for Potions," Draco muttered.

"Was Transfiguration that bad?" Harry asked.

"You weren't the one who got assigned homework on the first day of school," Draco complained.

"Yeah, like who assigns an essay and practice for the practical evaluation tomorrow on the first day of school?" Ron said, outraged.

"Ron, it is literally 9 inches of parchment."

"Yeah, it's terrible."

Harry rolled his eyes before stepping into the Potions classroom. "Hey, Draco, it looks like we're having class with the Slytherins today."

"You make it sound as if it's a good thing," Ron muttered.

Draco ignored him and sat down next to a Slytherin. However, the said Slytherin glared at him and moved to a different bench.

Seeing Draco's hurt look, Harry took the empty seat before the classroom doors burst open and Professor Snape entered.

"You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," Snape began. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death—if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Silence followed his words.

"Potter!"

Harry jumped. "Yes, Professor?"

"What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?" Snape asked, almost a sneer.

Harry didn't realize this was a first year potion – he didn't remember reading about it in his potions schoolbook. "The Draught of Living Death, Sir?" he asked tentatively.

Snape narrowed his eyes at him. "And how would you know that, Potter?"

So it wasn't in the first year curriculum. Why was Snape asking him this then? "I work outdoors a lot, Sir. Asphodel and wormwood are plants I've encountered a lot," he answered truthfully. "So I know in general how to use them. I wouldn't know how to brew the Draught though." He smiled nervously and said, trying to lighten the mood, "I'd probably die in the process before you say Draught of Living Death."

There was a silence in the classroom that was almost palpable.

"Where would you find a bezoar?"

"Stomach of a goat, Sir," Harry answered immediately. This one, he knew the answer intimately. He always made sure to have a steady supply of bezoars, especially considering some of the poisons he could encounter while working on his family's grounds.

"The difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I…I'm not sure, Sir. I've always treated them both the same." He would have to look this up later. Mixing up plants could be disastrous. Normally he was very meticulous about this type of thing, but it seemed that this detail skipped his mind somehow. "What is the difference?"

"You would be correct in treating them the same, Potter, considering that they are different names for the same plant."

Oh. Harry shifted uncomfortably under Snape's gaze.

After a few seconds, Snape broke eye contact and said to the class, "Pair up. You will be brewing a cure for boils today." He waved his wand at the board and instructions appeared.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked behind Harry.

Harry shrugged as he began to crush the snake fangs. "I don't know, but I'm going to memorize  _One Thousand Herbs and Fungi_  the first chance I get." He glanced over at Draco. "Are you done yet, Draco?"

"The hell, Harry?" Draco looked at him incredulously. "You're done crushing the fangs already?"

Harry nodded. "Your moving the pestle awkwardly is why your hands are getting tired so easily by the way."

Offended, Draco crossed his arms. "How would you hold it then?"

Harry gave a placating smile and demonstrated. His hands, though small, were adept and firm. "It takes practice. I've been doing this for years." As he returned the mortar and pestle to Draco, he saw trouble in front of him. "Neville, no!"

But it was too late – the porcupine quills were dropped into the cauldron, which promptly melted. The next few minutes were filled with chaos as the spilled potion caused boils to erupt all over Neville's skin, and people jumped onto their chairs to avoid the spill. The look on Snape's face was enough to make even Draco feel sorry for Neville.

"That blundering idiot," Draco muttered as they made their way to lunch. "Who thought it was a good idea for him to come to Hogwarts anyway? Even Crabbe and Goyle didn't mess up so badly, and together, they're stupider than a troll."

"Do you have to be nasty to everyone, Malfoy?" Ron said on the other side of Harry. Ron and Draco made sure to stay as far from the other as possible. Had Harry not been in between them, it was highly likely that they would have escalated beyond the insults that were immediately fired after.

Harry had given up trying to play peacemaker. Ron and Draco had been squabbling since the crack of dawn when Ron complained about the latter taking up too much time in the shower. He ignored them as he sat down to eat lunch.

"Harry!"

Harry looked up.

Hermione stood in front of him,  _Hogwarts, A History_  held out in front of her. "Here's your book back," she said, her voice oddly lacking the bossy tone he had begun to associate with her after Transfiguration. In fact, she looked almost shy and desperately trying to hide it.

"Thanks." As she was about to walk away, Harry called out to her, "Why don't you have lunch with us?"

Hermione seemed surprised, but pulling herself together, she stammered, "I-I can't. I have to study."

Harry nodded. "That's too bad then. You're welcome to join any time."

As she left, Ron hissed, "Are you mental?"

"What?" Harry frowned. "I invited someone to have lunch with us. How is that mental?" As he said that, an owl dropped a letter in front of Draco just as Hedwig dropped off a letter in front of Harry.

"Bloody hell, Malfoy – you got a Howler?" Ron asked, snickering.

Harry looked up and saw Draco pale as a sheet.

Draco swallowed before opening the envelope with trembling hands.

A cold voice sent chills down Harry's neck:  _"Draco. Your mother and I are greatly displeased to have heard that you've been sorted into such an unfortunate house. Try not to disappoint us again."_

After the Howler exploded, Draco was silent. There were some snickers from the Slytherin table before he felt Harry's hand on his shoulder.

"At least he didn't disown you."

Draco rolled his eyes but felt better. "What a way to look at the glass half-full.  _At least my father didn't disown me._ "

Harry chuckled and took out his letter from Madam Malkin.

_Harry,_

_I am proud of you, my dear son. Gryffindor certainly suits you, and I can't say I'm surprised. I'm sure Dumbledore must be proud as well._

_How are your classes so far? Do you need any extra robes? Cloaks?_

_With much love,_

_Mdm Malkin_

"My dear son," Ron repeated. "Does she usually talk like that?"

Harry smiled. "Only to me. What's wrong with it?"

Ron shrugged. "If my mum calls me that, I'd be pretty embarrassed."

"I don't see anything wrong with it. It's just an expression of affection," Harry said, pulling out a sheet of parchment and ink and quill.

"And why would Dumbledore be proud that you're in Gryffindor? I mean, I know you're Harry Potter and all, but…"

"Dumbledore helped Madam Malkin raise me," Harry said. "Well, he stops by every few weeks or so to check up on me and how I'm doing."

Ron gaped. "Blimey…you were raised by Dumbledore."

Draco folded his arms but held his tongue. Maybe that was why Harry was so odd - he grew up with a senile Muggle-lover.

Harry nodded. "He's a very kind man." Finishing up his letter, he gave it to Hedwig. "Give her my love, Hedwig." She nipped his finger affectionately before flying off. "Anyway, I have some things to do before our next class. I'll see you two in Charms."

….

McGonagall peered over her glasses at the boy in front of her. "Can I help you, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shifted nervously under her piercing gaze. "I was wondering, Professor, if you could tell me how you transformed yourself into a cat. You didn't use your wand…"

She regarded him for a second before saying, "That, Mr. Potter, is very advanced Transfiguration. At your present level, you wouldn't understand the magic involved even if I explain it to you." Seeing him deflate visibly, she gave him a tidbit, "Have you ever heard of the term 'Animagus' before?"

Harry blinked. "No, Professor."

She smiled. "Then I suggest you do some research on it. It will help answer some of your questions."

"Thank you, Professor!" Harry called back as he ran out of her office in his excitement.

…

Harry stuffed another book into his book bag:  _The Link Between the Human Spirit and the Animal_. He hoped he won't be late for Charms. As he rounded the corner, he saw Hermione hard at work, alone by herself by the window. "Hermione?"

She started, looking up as though to give him a piece of her mind when she realized that it was him. "Harry!"

"Aren't you going to Charms?"

Her eyes widened. "Oh no! I lost track of time!"

"Don't worry. We still have time," he laughed. "I just saw you and figured we might as well walk to Charms together."

Hermione's face turned red. "Oh…o-of course…" she stammered out.

Bemused, Harry watched as Hermione fumbled with putting her things away. She dropped some things, but he didn't comment, deciding that she must have just been worried about missing class. "Do you need help with some of the books?" he asked politely.

Hermione shook her head adamantly, her bushy hair flying everywhere. "I'm good," she said, struggling to lift up three tomes in her arms in addition to the two already in her book bag.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You know you can always come back later." He grabbed two books out of her arms and began carrying them out of the library. He grinned to himself when he heard her squeak of protest behind him, "Wait! Harry!" When they reached the Charms classroom, he dropped the books on her desk, panting slightly.

Hermione reached her desk after him, her face red to Harry's amusement. "Thank you."

"Anytime." Harry didn't miss her look of disappointment when he went off to sit next to Draco and Ron, although he couldn't figure out why.

Ron shifted uncomfortably before asking slowly, "Harry, you're not smitten with Granger, are you?"

Draco choked.

Harry blinked. "Smitten?"

"Yeah, like…you know…you like her?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron's wording. "I like her. She's not afraid of herself, and she's quite talented."

Draco groaned. "Oh for Merlin's sake, Harry, he's asking if you're in love with Granger!" The classroom suddenly became very quiet. Hermione was staring at them now. "First you lent her a book over the summer. And now you're walking to class with her instead of, you know,  _us_."

Harry frowned. "Hermione and I are friends. Honestly, eleven is a bit early to think of dating, don't you think?"

"Don't look at me. Weasley asked."

"What was I supposed to think? He left us at lunch, and the next time we see him, he comes carrying her books!"

Harry glanced at Hermione, whose bushy hair was covering her face, and was about to comment when Flitwick chose that moment to enter.  _I don't understand my age group…_ For once, he was starting to understand Dumbledore's worries about his childhood development had he been living with only house elves…

...

Dumbledore listened as McGonagall described to him Harry's success in Transfiguration. Flitwick was ecstatic as he praised Harry's curiosity - the boy had stayed after class to discuss with him some aspects of Charms theory - theory that wouldn't be taught for at least another few months. Even Snape grudgingly admitted that he was impressed with Harry's knowledge of potions ingredients and brewing technique.

The only one who didn't have anything good to say was Quirrell, who stammered, quite indignant, that Harry had actually dozed off in his class.

When Dumbledore asked Harry about it later, the boy shrugged helplessly. "I tried to stay awake. Honest I really did."


	9. Thoughtfulness and Thoughtlessness

Harry had never been gladder that he had learned how to fly before coming to Hogwarts. As they made their way towards the Quidditch pitch for their first flying lesson, people were talking about their past flying experience and achievements – he hoped he would be able to catch up with everyone else. He could hear Hermione ramble about what she had read about flying and see Neville nervously hanging on to her every word, and Harry was glad that he wasn't the only one who had never flown next to an airplane.

Ron was telling anyone who'd listen that he had hit a hang glider flying Charlie's old broom once…

Draco was having none of it however. "Please, Weasley," he drawled. "I outflew an eagle on my broom before. Unlike you with your hand-me-down broom, my father brought me the best broom from Quality Quidditch Supplies."

"I'd rather have talent than a Nimbus, Malfoy," Ron growled.

"If talent is gold, you'd be broke, not just poor."

When they arrived at the pitch, they saw that the Slytherins were already there, along with two rows of broomsticks. Harry wondered if he could convince Dumbledore to fund higher quality brooms – these looked rather beaten up ("My father would never let me ride such decrepit brooms!").

"Welcome to your first flying lesson!" Madam Hooch began. "I want you to step up to the left side of your broom, put out your right hand, and say 'up'."

To Harry's glee, as he put out his right hand and commanded his broom with a single "Up!", the broom flew straight into his hand. He looked up to see that Draco had managed the feat as well. Others in the class weren't so lucky. At one point, Ron's broom went up at his command…only to smack him in the face, sending Harry into a laughing fit.

"Shut up, Harry," Ron groaned, holding his nose.

Neville's broom didn't even move. There was a quaver in his voice that made it clear that he wanted his feet on the ground…

"Neville."

Neville looked up miserably.

"Brooms are like animals. They can tell when you're nervous," Harry said. "You have to believe that the broom will do as you say. Trust that your words will be carried out. If you don't trust yourself, how can you expect the broom to trust you enough to come to your hand, trusting you as its rider?"

"Up!"

On the other side of Neville, Hermione's broom jumped to her hand even though only moments ago, it had been rolling around on the ground. Meeting Harry's eyes, she smiled shyly and ducked her head.

"Go on," Harry said to Neville encouragingly.

"Up!"

This time, the broom rolled a bit…

"Give it up, Harry," Draco said exasperatingly. "It'll be a miracle for Longbottom to learn how to fly." The entire class was focusing on them now, the Slytherins laughing amongst themselves at Neville's pathetic attempts. Even Madam Hooch looked as though she wanted Neville to simply pick up his broom.

Harry frowned in thought before he grinned. "Neville, close your eyes, and do it again."

"Harry, I don't think I can do this…"

"Just try it this once. If it doesn't work, you can give up."

Neville closed his eyes, put out his right hand, and said, his voice quivering with nervousness, "Up!"

Harry winked at Draco, placed his hand about an inch above Neville's, and said softly so that his voice would be mostly drowned out by Neville's, "Up!"

Neville's eyes snapped open when the broom jumped to his hand. "What happened?"

Harry smirked, seeing Draco's scandalized expression out of the corner of his eye. "You had more confidence when your eyes were closed. Try it again." Again, Harry placed his hand over Neville's so that the broom would jump into Neville's hand.

Neville offered Harry a surprised, but pleased and excited, smile. "I think I get it."

"Try it with your eyes closed one more time, and then try it one more time with your eyes open." Again, Harry helped him when Neville had his eyes closed. He could hear Neville's voice becoming more confident with each time the broom jump into his hand.

Finally, Neville tried it with his eyes open. "Up!" The broom missed his hand by a few centimeters. "Sorry," he muttered to Harry. "Might take some practice for me to get it with my eyes open."

Harry beamed. "You almost got it!"

"Up!" This time, the broom went straight into Neville's hand.

Harry gave Draco a smug look. "You were saying, Draco?"

Neville looked around as though just realizing that everyone was staring at him. "Sorry I kept everyone waiting," he said meekly.

Madam Hooch, who had been watching the entire scene fold, shook herself out of her amazement at her student's persistence and creativity. "Once you have a hold of your broom, I want you to mount it. Grasp it firmly with both hands. You don't want to slide off the end. Now when I blow my whistle I want you to kick off the ground, hover for a moment, then lean forward to touch back down. Ready?"

Harry waited for the whistle, but when he heard it, before he could kick off the ground, he saw Neville flying up higher and higher into the air. The other boy, whose nervousness had returned at the idea of flying, had lost control of his broom.

"M-Mr. Longbottom…" Madam Hooch was shocked. "Come back down this instant!"

Before she could even take out her wand, Neville's broom shot off towards the castle.

Harry instinctively kicked off the ground and leaned forward, rushing after the other boy. The school broom had nowhere near the control of his Nimbus, but it would have to do.

"Mr. Potter! Get back here!"

Adrenaline ran through his veins, Harry's eyes focused on Neville's form. Neville's broom was bouncing until it finally succeeded in bucking its rider off. Harry moved his broom into the vertical position for the maneuver he had done so often under the watchful eye of Madam Malkin and Dumbledore. With that, he flew towards the ground and towards Neville at full speed.

Thirty feet…He was almost to the other boy…Twenty feet…Just a little more…Fifteen…His arm wrapped around Neville's middle just as he leaned to the side, his broom turning into a circle, the wind sending up dust everywhere. Harry flinched in shock when he found he was closer to the ground than he thought he was – the broom definitely didn't have the same precision as his Nimbus, and the braking charm was clearly wearing off. Neville's feet grazed the ground, and Harry let him go when he had slowed down the other's descent enough to prevent injury.

"MR. POTTER!"

Harry winced. Madam Hooch was going to kill him for flying when she told him not to.

"MR. POTTER!"

Harry groaned inwardly. It was bad enough with Madam Hooch. But McGonagall, too? How many people were going to yell at him?

"Rolanda, what is the meaning of this?" McGonagall sputtered out.

Madam Hooch fixed Harry a hard look. "I wish I have an answer for that, Minerva. Tell me, Mr. Potter. Where did you learn the Wronski Feint? That move is very difficult to pull off and dangerous to boot. You could have gotten yourself killed!"

Harry gave her a confused look. "The Wonky what?"

"The Wronski Feint. That is the maneuver you've just done."

"I-I didn't know that had a name. I just like practicing dives at home," Harry said honestly.

McGonagall and Madam Hooch shared a look. "I will let you take care of him, Minerva," Madam Hooch finally said before moving to attend to Neville.

"Follow me, Mr. Potter," McGonagall said.

"Wait, Professor, he was just trying to save –"

"That's enough, Mr. Finnigan."

"But Neville –"

"I said that's quite enough, Mr. Weasley."

Harry sighed as he followed McGonagall. He wondered what his punishment was going to be.

…

"Wonder what's going to happen to him…"

"McGonagall wouldn't expel him, would she?" Neville asked guiltily. "He did save my life. I should be getting expelled, not him."

"She might," Draco said dejectedly. "She seems like a stickler for the rules."

"She's a teacher. She would understand…"

"Honestly, Granger, you think all teachers are perfect or something," Ron said exasperatedly. "McGonagall will probably have him in detention for the next two years. And then expel him."

"Weasley, don't be stupid. Does that really make sense…?"

"Well what do you think is going to happen, Malfoy? Tell us if you're so smart."

That was the scene Harry walked into, his friends arguing with each other how he was going to be punished. "Or you guys can just ask me."

"Harry!"

"So, mate, what did McGonagall say?" Ron asked.

Harry sighed. "She's allowing Filch to cane me every day for the next month to his heart's content."

Ron's mouth fell open in horror. Draco stared at him in disbelief. Hermione gasped in shock. Neville looked as though he were about to burst into tears ("I'm so sorry, Harry!").

Harry allowed the charade to continue for a few more seconds before bursting out in laughter. "Your reactions are priceless!" He continued laughing even as Draco punched him in the shoulder. Hard.

"That's not funny, Harry!" Draco snarled. "What the hell happened?"

Harry was still grinning. "I can't tell you. McGonagall told me to keep it a secret."

As though on cue, the twins appeared. "Hell, Harry, you must be good. Wood was practically skipping when he told us the news. We can't wait to see you fly tomorrow!"

Harry sighed. "Well there goes the secret."

His friends were gawking at him. Ron spoke first, "Blimey, Harry…you're on the Quidditch team? But first-years never make the house team!"

At that, Angelina, Alicia, and Katie joined the twins. "Think we can see your Wronski Feint, Harry? We heard from Wood that your performance impressed both McGonagall and Hooch. Wood looked as though he was having a field day."

Harry felt his face heat up as more and more Gryffindors got drawn into the group. "Uh yeah, I can probably do that again." Gryffindor common room was an uproar that evening with people asking him how long he had been flying, if he had any other moves up his sleeves, etc., much to his embarrassment.

As people cleared out to go to bed, he saw Hermione staying back. She seemed to be waiting to talk to him alone, so he obliged, staying back with her until the common room was empty otherwise.

Hermione approached him and said, her voice having a slight quiver to it despite retaining its bossy tone, "Do you know you have it in your blood?"

"What?" Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. "Have what in my blood?"

"Quidditch talent. Your father played Quidditch, too. I saw his name on a plaque in the trophy room," Hermione explained. "He was a Chaser."

Harry's eyes widened. "My father played Quidditch? I didn't know that."

Hermione nodded before heading off to bed.

"Hermione?" When she turned, Harry said sincerely, "Thank you for that information." She beamed back at him before (was he imagining it?) skipping up the stairs.

The next morning at breakfast, Hedwig dropped a package in front of Harry from Madam Malkin. Unwrapping it, he was once again united with his friend as his hand wrapped around the handle of his Nimbus 1900.

…

"One of the most elementary skills of a wizard is making things fly," Flitwick said. "Repeat after me.  _Wingardium Leviosa!_ Remember to annunciate! Never forget Wizard Baruffio, who said 's' instead of 'f' and found himself on the floor with a buffalo on his chest. Try it out now."

As Harry successfully levitated his feather, he saw Ron next to him getting frustrated – so much so that he was practically jabbing, rather than simply flicking at, the feather.

"Stop, stop," Hermione stopped Ron. "You're going to poke someone's eye out. Besides, you're saying it wrong. It's Wing-gar-dium Levi-o-sa, make the 'gar' nice and long."

Ron put down his wand. "Why don't you do it if you're so clever? Go on."

Hermione rolled her eyes. " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ " The feather began to fly to her will.

As soon as Charms was over, Ron marched out of the classroom with Harry and Draco on his heels. "She's a nightmare, honestly. It's no wonder she hasn't got any friends!" Ron ranted.

Harry was about to respond when he was nearly knocked over by a force ramming into him from behind.

"You owe me an apology, Granger!" Draco called after her, having been knocked to the ground. "What's up with her anyway?"

"I think she heard Ron," Harry said, steadying himself.

Ron looked uncomfortable. "I was just saying the truth."

"That's not the truth," Harry said softly. "I know for sure she has at least one friend."

Confused, Ron asked, "Who?"

Draco rolled his eyes as he meticulously brushed off his robes. "Harry's talking about himself, you dumb weasel. Don't you ever pay attention?"

And with that, his two friends launched into another duel of insults. Harry wondered if he should check on Hermione to see if she was okay. She looked as though she wanted to be alone. Deciding that he should probably leave her alone and check on her when she felt better, he followed Ron and Draco to the Great Hall for the Halloween Feast. When Hermione still hadn't shown up halfway through the feast, he started to become worried.

"You okay, Harry?" Ron asked.

"I'm fine. I'm worried about Hermione. She's not here." Harry stood up and grabbed a clean plate. "I'll take a plate back to the dorms for her."

Neville leaned over. "She's not in the dorms I hear. She's been crying in the girl's bathroom since the end of Charms class."

Harry frowned and began filling up the empty plate. "Thanks, Neville."

"You're not going to stand outside the girl's bathroom, are you?" Ron gawked.

"Harry, Granger's probably fine," Draco drawled.

"I don't feel right leaving her like that. I'll see you guys after the feast," Harry said and walked off towards the girl's bathroom. Ron did bring up a good point. Should he just stand outside? He knocked on the door to the lavatory. "Hermione?" There was silence to answer him. Wondering if Neville had gotten the wrong information, he tried again, "Hermione? Are you okay?"

"Go away!"

Harry recoiled, not expecting such an aggressive response. "I brought you some food from the feast," he called out. He paused. "I'm sorry for what Ron said. He was wrong, you know. I've always considered you my friend. I'm sure you have others, but…" The door opened up to show a tear-streaked Hermione. "Uh…food?" He offered her the plate of food he had in his hand. "I wasn't sure what you like, so I just got a bit of everything." When she started crying again, he panicked, "What did I say? I can go back and get you the foods you would like if you tell me what they are."

Hermione shook her head, letting out another sob. "It's not the food. It's you."

That did nothing to lessen Harry's panic. "I'm sorry?" he apologized questioningly. "I-I'm not sure what I did though," he said timidly.

"You're so  _stupid_!" She launched herself at him, almost upsetting the plate of food he was holding in his hand, and hugged him fiercely, shocking him. "You didn't do anything wrong," she muttered into his shoulder. "Thank you."

Harry was still confused, but he supposed everything was alright now. Chuckling, he placed his free hand on her back, saying, "You're welcome. Are you feeling good enough to come to the feast?" As he said that, he sniffed, smelling something foul. "Hermione, do you smell that?"

"Smell what? My nose is a bit stuffy," she said, letting go of him.

Harry frowned. "Stay here," he said, handing her the plate of food. He ran down the corridor. The smell was fainter here, which meant…A scream sounded from where he had just come. "Hermione!" he yelled, running back towards the direction of the girl's lavatory. To his horror, a twelve-foot troll had her backed into a corner, Hermione paralyzed in fear.

The troll reached for her…

Harry began screaming at the troll. "HEY YOU! OVER HERE!" he screamed. He didn't know what he would do once he got its attention. Trolls were one of the few magical creatures not found on Hazel Island, and as a result, he knew close to nothing about them. He wouldn't be surprised if their hides were magic-resistant. He ran at the troll, levitating a coat of armor next to him and whipping it at the monster. The coat of armor smacked the troll in the side, distracting it from its prey. "Oh Merlin," he muttered as the troll turned its attention to him. "Aurora!"

In a burst of fire, a phoenix appeared above them. Seeming to understand Harry's will, she swooped down towards Hermione, and in another burst of fire, both disappeared.

"Alright, ugly," Harry muttered to himself once Hermione was out of harm's way. "Let's see how tough you really are." At that moment, Aurora once again appeared above him, and he grabbed onto her tail. Aurora then flew towards the troll's head. Taking aim, Harry cried out, " _Incendio_!" A rush of fire appeared out of the end of his wand and entered into the troll's mouth, burning its throat and its insides.

A few seconds later, it dropped its club and fell to its knees. Smoke could be seen coming out of its mouth.

Aurora lowered Harry to the ground and perched herself on his shoulder.

"Harry!"

Harry turned around to see Draco and Ron running towards him. Both gaped at the dead troll in front of them.

"Harry, did you – how did you - ?" Draco was shocked speechless.

"Bloody hell, Harry," Ron whispered.

Harry smiled. "Let's get back to Gryffindor Tower. Hold onto me." The other two could only obey wordlessly. In a burst of fire, they appeared in front of the portrait hole. Aurora was gone.

Shaken, Draco said softly, "And to think, we thought you would need our help since you didn't know about the escaped troll. What just happened?"

Harry chuckled. "Don't worry about it. Do me a favor though, and don't mention what you saw to anyone." Entering the portrait hole, he found himself in Hermione's bone-crushing hug once again. "Are you alright, Hermione?"

Poor Hermione! She didn't even know how to respond.

"Harry, where were you?" George asked, coming up to them. "Me and Fred had to distract Percy so that Ron and Malfoy could escape and look for you."

There was a silence before Ron said, "Harry slayed the troll." All conversation in the common room stopped. "We found him in front of the troll, and it was dead." He turned to Harry with a look akin to awe. "You must be really powerful. How did you do it? What spell did you use?"

Suddenly there was a surge of students towards Harry as people begged for the story. Harry ducked under Hermione and sprinted towards the stairway to the boy's dormitories. To many Gryffindors' disappointment, Harry was up the stairs before anyone could stop him. Draco turned to Ron, scowling, "What's the matter with you, Weasley? He told us not to say anything!"

Ron folded his arms, indignant. "I don't see what the problem is! If I were him, I'd be fine with people knowing what I can do."

"Well, your name isn't Harry Potter now, is it?" Draco huffed. "You've known him for what? Almost two months now, and you don't know he's about as shy as you are thoughtless?" When Ron started sputtering, he smirked and drawled, "Give it up, Weasel. None of this would've happened had it not been for you. The gift of thought seemed to have skipped over you as a human being."

Ron shifted uncomfortably. "Uh…Granger?"

Hermione gave Ron a hard look.

"Gra – Hermione, about earlier…" He couldn't seem to finish.

"Forget it. Harry already apologized for you," Hermione said imperiously. She let Ron squirm a bit before softening her voice and offering him a hand.

Ron smiled sheepishly and took her offered hand.

"It's all good for you, Weasley, but aren't you going to apologize to me, Granger?" Draco demanded.

"For what, Malfoy?" Hermione challenged.

"For nearly knocking me over!"

…

McGonagall gasped at the sight of the dead troll. "Albus, what could have happened here?"

Dumbledore stepped around the troll, inspecting it. "It appears to have been killed by an  _Incendio_."

"But trolls are spell-resistant…"

"Not," he emphasized. "Not if you shoot a spell into its mouth."

"Who could have done this?"

Dumbledore shrugged, though he had a good suspicion. "Who knows?"

…

Harry put down his quill and stretched, letting out a tired yawn. A glance at the clock indicated how late it was. He turned to Draco, who had fallen asleep working beside him. Draco, as almost every night, tried to keep up with him, but as always, his friend didn't have the same stamina as he did. Ron didn't even try. Harry hadn't been able to shake off all the habits he had cultivated when he had been living with the Dursleys, one of which was hard work on little rest. He closed  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ , keeping his notes between the pages to mark his place. "Draco?"

Draco shifted slightly but slept on.

Harry sighed, debating whether to help him up the stairs or just drape a blanket over him. He turned towards the fireplace. Ron had apologized later that night, and Harry had forgiven him easily enough. However, he still had to sneak around Gryffindor Tower the next few days to avoid people questioning him. He wished people didn't make such a big deal out of everything. How he missed Madam Malkin's shop! There, he could simply do his job, and no one would blink an eye.

_Master…_

Harry turned towards the portrait hole. He had let Sasha out so that she could explore the castle at her leisure at night while everyone was asleep. Usually he would accompany her, her sense of smell providing him plenty of warning with regards to patrolling prefects and his invisibility cloak providing him plenty of cover. However, today, he had been a bit too busy to go exploring. He stood up and opened the door, allowing the snake to slither in.  _"How was your adventure? Where did you explore?"_

_The third floor corridor._ Sasha's eyes glittered.  _It is most interesting really. The old man must be getting senile, keeping a three-headed dog in the school. It looks full-grown, too._

Harry blinked, trying to decide if he had heard her right.  _"Three-headed dog? Like a Cerberus? Here?"_

Sasha nodded.  _This castle sure is interesting…_

_"Sure is. I'm sure Professor Dumbledore has his reasons although I'm curious what those reasons are."_

_Maybe he's trying to protect an endangered species?_ Sasha supplied helpfully.

Harry shrugged. He remembered learning to tame a Cerberus. It wasn't the most exciting thing he had to learn if he was being honest. More than anything, it was time consuming. It involved playing music intermittently so that the dog was drowsy enough not to try to kill him but not drowsy enough to simply fall asleep. Then he would spend time lounging around with it so that it would get used to his presence.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Draco blinking sleepily and confusedly at his surroundings. Sasha slithered away discreetly. "Finally woken up have you?" he asked, smirking.

"What time is it?" Draco slurred.

"1:20. Shall we go up to bed?"

Draco yawned before nodding and saying, "I had the strangest dream. I dreamt that you're a Parselmouth, and you and Sasha were having a discussion about something or other…" He continued muttering to himself half-asleep as he followed Harry up the stairs.

"Draco, you really should stop having chocolate before bed. You'll probably forget what I'm saying in the morning, but you sleep talk a lot after you've had sweets at night. One of these days, you'll confess your love to Ron or something," Harry said fondly. "I still can't believe you ate three chocolate frogs in one sitting."

"Can't help it. They're tasty. And Harry, that's nasty." Draco moaned as though in physical pain. "Weasley has too many freckles. I'd rather confess my love to a Hufflepuff."

Harry snickered as he opened the door to their dorm room. As he closed his eyes to sleep, he could still hear Draco muttering about freckles and red hair.


	10. Phoenix Song

It was rare to find Harry alone. Older students were impressed with his creativity with magic and often discussed with him about his ideas. Students in his year hung around him in the hopes of seeing the same power that slayed the troll.

So when Hermione found Harry alone in the common room, she wasn't about to waste the opportunity.

"Harry?"

Harry looked up from practicing the wand movement for the Unlocking Charm. "Oh, hi, Hermione."

Hermione sat down next to him, looking cautiously around for eavesdroppers, "Harry, I want to ask you about the other day. Halloween."

Harry put down his wand and closed his book to give her his full attention. "What is it?"

"The phoenix. I've read all about phoenixes. You can't just get one from the Magical Menagerie." She gave him a significant look as though expecting him to answer the implied question. Harry, however, waited for a direct question. "How did you find one, let alone have one as your familiar?"

"I didn't find her. She found me." He looked thoughtful. "I don't really know her reason for choosing me, although I have my suspicions."

Hermione's eyes shone, eager to learn. "What's your theory?"

"It's a bit of a long story." Seeing her disappointment, he stood up, clearly wanting her to follow him. "Sorry – I would prefer a more private place." Then he led her out to the lake. "Phoenixes are wonderful creatures though not much is known about them. To be honest, even though Aurora and I are together, I don't know much about her. Aurora, come to me."

A burst of fire signaled her appearance above the lake, and Aurora swooped down towards them, landing gracefully on Harry's shoulder. She cocked her head curiously at Hermione, who stared back at her in awe.

Harry leaned his head against Aurora's side. "Many wizards think that when phoenixes die, they don't  _really_  die. But that's not true. Anyone who has looked a phoenix in the eye on its Burning Day would know this. They know they're about to die, and they accept it. Then in death, they are born again. It is through this process that they can live for so long – possibly forever. It is my theory that they bond to humans most like them."

Hermione gave him a confused look. "Harry, humans can't do that."

"You would be right if you're talking about a physical death. But I'm talking about a different kind of dying. I'm talking about dying in the heart. You accept death to yourself and then live for others so that their happiness becomes your own." He suddenly looked self-conscious. "I mean, I can never be certain as to why Aurora chose me. But that is my best guess, given the circumstances."

"Harry, you're only eleven. What does it even mean for you to live for others?"

"Even if I'm only eleven, I can still live for those I see every day."

Hermione pondered his words for a while before understanding. Neville didn't expect Harry to help him, but he did so anyway, even though everyone else thought it was a lost cause. Hermione didn't expect Harry to search her out in the girls' bathroom, but he did so anyway, even though his friends discouraged the idea. His words struck a chord within her, her heart aching and swelling with bittersweet admiration. She took a deep breath. "I didn't have many friends before coming to Hogwarts. And certainly not one who cares so much about me that he would fight a troll for me. I was always the odd one, my nose always stuck in a book. I was teased terribly before coming here..." She really didn't want to cry, but her vision was blurring.

Arms wrapped themselves around her. A beautiful melodious sound could be heard from the phoenix on Harry's shoulder, and the song strengthened her.

Hermione closed her eyes, relaxing. "You were the only one to come to me that day. People came in and out of the bathroom and knew I was there, but they were excited about the Halloween feast and didn't want to bother with me at the time. I didn't mean to insult Ron in Charms that day – I just wanted to show him that muggleborns can be good at magic." She had never told anyone about her insecurities, not even her parents. But her trust in the boy before her had grown so much that she poured out her soul to him.

Harry rubbed her back. "Ron isn't someone who cares about blood status. And you don't have to show anyone anything. If you do well, people will know. And even if they don't, you do, which is all that really matters, isn't it?"

Hermione only clutched at his robes more tightly. From that day on, even her love of books and knowledge couldn't outmatch her loyalty and dedication to the boy who not only saved her from a troll but gave her pride and confidence in herself, no matter the rest of the world.

…

"How do you feel?"

Harry grinned. "Excited."

Wood nodded approvingly. "Expected nothing less from you, Potter. Most people would be nervous rather than excited."

"I am nervous." As the door opened to the Quidditch Pitch, he smirked. "But I've been waiting to play Quidditch for years." He swung his leg over his broom and shot off before any of his teammates even mounted their brooms. As the wind blew around him, he let out a whoop of exhilaration. This…this was freedom. His excitement must have been infectious because the other Gryffindors answered in even louder cheers.

Wood and Flint shook hands, glaring at each other before the Quaffle was released.

At the very beginning, it was clear that the Slytherins had no intention of playing fairly. A few times, Harry had seen and rushed towards the Snitch, only to be blocked by Flint and almost knocked off his broom. He was ready to ram into Flint the next time it happened, bugger the consequences, when his broom, his trusty broom for years, started bucking wildly. "What the - ?"

In the crowd below, Ron was panicking. "What's happening? Harry's never lost control of his broom before…"

Draco wasn't faring much better. There was no way Harry lost control of his broom. His friend's control was pinpoint, if his dives during practice were anything to go off of. "Someone is cursing it!" he hissed. "It has to be Dark Magic!"

"It's Snape!" Hermione whispered furiously beside him.

"What are you talking about, Granger…?"

"You've seen how Snape treats him in class! He hates him! And look! He's not taking his eyes off of him! Snape's cursing Harry's broom!" She shoved binoculars into his hands and pointed towards the teachers' stand.

Draco shook his head in vehement denial. "No, it can't be him!"

Ron shoved Draco aside. "Shove it, Malfoy. There's no one else that it could be." Turning to Hermione, he said, "What do we do?"

"I'll take care of it." With that, she ran off towards the teachers' stand.

"I'm telling you!" Draco growled. "It's not him!"

"Then explain why Snape isn't blinking, you tosser!" Ron demanded, glaring at him.

Draco fell silent. He didn't have an answer for him. Snape was a close family friend and his favorite teacher. Even though he was in Gryffindor, Snape still treated him as he always did. And he knew that Snape would never do something like this. He just knew.

Disgusted, Ron asked, "Whose side are you on anyway? With all the time you've spent with Harry, I thought maybe you were his friend, even if you hate the rest of us. But now I see. You spend time with him because he's the only one in Gryffindor naïve enough to trust you. I can't believe you'd rather have Slytherin win than save his life!"

"That's not true," Draco said softly, shaken. Several other Gryffindors who had been listening in were also glaring at him suspiciously. Overwhelmed, he ran out from the stand. Away from the crowds, he kicked a nearby wall. "I hate Gryffindors," he muttered harshly. "Weasley, Granger, the whole lot. Harry probably doesn't like me either." But even as he said it, he knew, just as he knew Snape wasn't the one cursing Harry's broom, that it wasn't true. If he wasn't fooling himself, he would actually say Harry seemed to like him more than he liked even Ron.

Draco sat down, hugging his knees. "I hate Gryffindors. Except for Harry."

Suddenly a soft song could be heard, sounding as though it came from within him.

Confused, Draco looked around. "Where is that coming from?" The song continued, and for an unknown reason, Draco felt braver, more determined.

_"What's this? Saint Harry Potter studying curses? I didn't think you're one for Dark Magic, Harry." Draco sat down on Harry's bed across from him._

_"I have to do something to make up for falling asleep so often in Quirrell's class. And you can't defend yourself against the Dark Arts if you don't know anything about them." Harry flipped a page._

_"Is Dumbledore running out of people to teach the class? How did he end up with Quirrell anyway? Even if you could stay awake, you wouldn't have learned anything anyway. The man's afraid of his own subject."_

_Harry chuckled. "Who knows? This is interesting though."_

_"What?"_

_"Certain curses, jinxes, hexes, and their counterspells require solid eye contact on the target to cast. Meaning no blinking allowed. Those sound rather inconvenient to cast to me."_

_"Maybe they're more powerful?" Draco suggested, only half-interested._

_"Doesn't matter how powerful they are if you can't finish the spell. If the opponent just casts a simple 'Lumos Maxima', unless you have eyes of steel, the spell won't work."_

_"Lumos Maxima?"_

_"Mhmm. You already know Lumos. 'Maxima' means 'very great' or 'greatest.' So very great light…"_

Draco's breath hitched as realization dawned upon him. "Professor Snape must have been muttering a counterspell. Oh, Merlin, Granger…" Now that he understood what was happening, panic began to seep in. "What do I do?" Hermione had too much of a head start for him to stop her.

_"Harry, what are we doing?" Draco huffed. It was midnight and definitely past curfew._

_"Shh…Watch." Harry flicked his wand twice. "Lumos Maxima."_

_"Gahhh!" The light coming from Harry's wand was so bright, it was blinding. "Shut that thing off!" Suddenly, he saw the light being thrown off into the Great Lake. His eyes widened. The light going beneath the water illuminated the lake, causing it to glow green, and he could see the silhouettes of grindylows, the merpeople, even the Giant Squid… The scene was beautiful._

_Draco was still gaping when the light dimmed._

_Harry grinned. "C'mon. I wouldn't recommend you do this often. It might annoy the merpeople living down there. I had to ask them in advance about tonight. I was so excited to try this out…"_

Harry had thrown the light into the lake. Maybe Draco could throw the light into the air to blind everyone indiscriminately? He didn't know who was casting the curse in the first place… "How did he cast it?" It occurred to Draco that he didn't really know what was involved in casting it. How different could it be from casting  _Lumos_? " _Lumos maxima!_ " he said loudly, flicking his wand twice like he remembered Harry doing. A bright light appeared at the end of his wand but disappeared almost immediately.

He could hear the crowds and hoped Harry hadn't fallen. " _Lumos maxima!_ " he tried again. This time, the light was dimmer and disappeared just as fast as before. Draco clenched his jaw in frustration and stress. Oh, how he wished for there to be someone to help him! But the Gryffindors didn't seem to be in the mood to listen to him, and the teachers were too far away.

_"How are you getting these spells so fast?" Draco asked when Harry once again successfully casted a Transfiguration spell after only a few tries._

_"You have to believe in your own words. Spells aren't just gibberish, you know. They are commands. You have to believe that your command will be carried out."_

Draco briefly wondered why and how he was able to remember all this, as stressed out as he was. The memories came just as he needed them, and he could almost hear Harry telling him,  _When you take someone's words to heart, Draco, you will never lose them. They become a part of you because they are so important to you._ "Remind me never not to take your words to heart," Draco muttered to himself. He took a deep breath and said, with a confidence he never knew he possessed, " _Lumos maxima!_ " To his glee and chagrin, the light that appeared at the end of his wand was so bright, it blinded him until he cried out, " _Nox! Nox! Nox!"_

With that, he ran out to the entrance to the pitch just in time to see Hermione successfully setting Snape's robes on fire. To Draco's horror, as Snape broke eye contact, Harry's broom went completely out of control, its rider holding on for dear life. Licking his lips, Draco said loudly, " _Lumos maxima!_ " Trusting Harry to hold on, he whipped his wand in Harry's direction, throwing the ball of light into the air before turning away from the brightness.

A few minutes later, the light darkened, and Draco could see the result of his efforts.

Harry's broom had stopped bucking, and Harry was seated firmly upon it, rubbing his eyes.

"Mr. Malfoy!"

Draco's relief was short-lived. He turned to see McGonagall looking livid, almost incoherent with anger. It terrified him.

"How-how could you? Your friend…He was your friend…Do you hate Gryffindor that much?"

"I-I was…"

"You will go to Professor Dumbledore's office. You will explain what you did. And you can start packing tonight." With that, she began to lead him towards the castle.

Draco wanted to tear out his hair. Instead, he only replied tiredly, "Yes, Professor." He wished he could talk to Harry before going. Harry would listen to him. Harry would give him a chance to explain what he had done. Harry would trust him. Even if no one else did.

…

Harry held up the Snitch above his head in victory. He grinned as his teammates cheered. Turning, he saw Ron and Hermione rushing towards him. "Where's Draco?" he asked amidst the congratulations.

Ron and Hermione shared a look before Ron nudged her. Hermione avoided Harry's eyes as she said, "He had to leave early."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's not like him," he said thoughtfully. "Who casted the  _Lumos Maxima_ spell anyway?" His confusion only grew when Ron and Hermione shared another look.

"I know you might not like to hear this, mate, but if you mean the bright light thing, that was Malfoy," Ron said.

Harry blinked before laughing. "Why would I not want to hear about my friend trying to save my life? Did he say where he was going? I need to thank him…"

"Harry, are you mad?" Ron asked, incredulous. "He just tried to kill you!"

"Ron," Harry began patiently. "Draco would never try to kill me."

"He blinded everyone while your broom was going out of control, Harry! You could have fallen, and no one would have even known!"

"I was about to fall anyway had he not done that. And he did the right thing. Someone was cursing my broom, and not knowing who it was, he broke everyone's eye contact on me…"

Hermione interrupted him, "But, Harry, we do know who was cursing your broom. It was Snape."

Harry frowned. "And how would you know that?"

"He was completely focused on you, not blinking at all…"

Harry shook his head. "You can't tell by that alone. Counterspells also require intense focus. Distracting Snape could have saved me, had he been uttering the curse itself, but it could very well have been the final straw to cause me to fall, had he been uttering the countercurse."

Ron and Hermione shared a guilty look. Sighing, Hermione said softly, "We weren't the only ones who thought Malfoy was trying to kill you, Harry. McGonagall saw what he did and wasn't too happy about it. We saw her taking him to the castle. Oh, Harry, she's probably going to try to expel him!"

Shocked, Harry pushed his way through the crowds. "Excuse me! Sorry, I need to get through!"

By the time Ron and Hermione also escaped the crowds, Harry was gone.

…

Draco's thoughts had spiraled downwards on their way to Dumbledore's office. Did Harry even notice he was gone? Or was he too busy celebrating? He probably caught the Snitch by now. Did Weasley and Granger tell Harry about his "betrayal"? _Calm down, Malfoy. You're his best friend. He wouldn't listen to them without hearing you out first._ Draco kept telling himself that as they approached the gargoyle keeping guard of Dumbledore's office.

"Cauldron cakes," McGonagall said, and the gargoyle got out of the way to reveal a door. "Go on, Malfoy," she said tightly.

Draco swallowed and entered.

"…the lemon curd you got me goes quite well with these biscuits I must say."

"I'm glad you like it, Sir."

Draco's heart skipped a beat. How did Harry get there so fast?

"It appears we have a guest. Why don't you welcome him in while I pour out another cup of tea for him, Harry?"

"Yes, Sir."

Draco gawked when he saw Harry walking down the stairs, still in his Quidditch uniform. "How did you get here so fast?" Draco asked, in a mix of awe and confusion.

Harry shrugged. "I took a shortcut." He laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Ron and Hermione told me what happened…"

"It's not true! Any of it!" Draco screamed, the buildup of frustration at everyone suspecting him and no one listening to him bursting forth.

"So you didn't cast the  _Lumos Maxima_  spell at me?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow. "So you're not the person I'm supposed to be thanking then?"

"No…yes…I did, I mean…What?" Draco blinked, confused.

Harry laughed. "C'mon. Have some tea with us. You can explain everything if you'd like. But I already know you were trying to save my life, and I explained that to Professor Dumbledore."

"How?" Draco asked weakly.

"I know you and I trust you. I can see other possible motivations for your actions besides you wanting to kill me. Come on. I'm sure Dumbledore won't mind letting you try some of the lemon curd I got him."

And with that, Draco's frustrated heart was soothed. And his sweet tooth was satisfied to boot.

…...

"I don't want to go back."

"Draco, McGonagall apologized, and I'm sure everyone else will, too, once they learn what happened…"

"They thought I would rather have you dead than have Gryffindor win a Quidditch match against Slytherin!"

Harry sighed. It was close to dinner time, and Draco was remaining stubbornly by the lake. After tea with Dumbledore ("Maybe Dumbledore isn't as bad as I thought he was – that lemon curd was good!"), they had taken a walk around the lake, during which Draco described the song that he had heard after his argument with Ron. Harry had made no comment, only listening with a fond smile. "Well, what are you going to do if you're not going to go back?"

"I don't know," Draco said petulantly. "You can go back if you want, you know. Don't let  _me_  hold you up. They're probably going to throw a party in your honor for winning the match…"

Harry waited for Draco to finish his rant. He had become rather used to these rants, amazingly enough. And he had found that when the rants happened, it usually didn't take much for Draco to give in. His friend simply wanted reassurance but was too proud to outright ask for it. When Draco finished, Harry said calmly, "Draco, you know full well that I'm not going to leave you here by yourself. I am just a bit hungry…"

"Then go eat then! Go on!" Draco said angrily.

Harry plopped himself down beside him. "I don't think it's proper for commoners to eat before their prince," he said simply. He closed his eyes, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach.

"Fine, starve then."

"As you command." Harry began counting down inside his head.  _Five. Four. Three. Two. One…_

Draco let out a dramatic sigh. "Let's go, commoner."

Harry hid his smirk. "As my prince commands."

"Shut up, Harry." And with that, both of them burst into laughter as they got up to go to the castle. As they neared the Great Hall, it was clear Draco was having second thoughts – his pale face had a slight green tinge to it.

"Draco, remember they're the ones who are wrong, not you."

Draco nodded, still looking sick.

As they entered and sat down at one end of the Gryffindor table, Ron came over, looking extremely uncomfortable and almost as sick as Draco did. "Er, hi," he muttered.

Harry, as always, smiled and said, "Hi, Ron. Care to sit with us?"

Ron looked even sicker as he sat down beside Harry, across from Draco.

Harry, unlike both of his friends, was quite enjoying himself and the discomfort between the two. "Potatoes?" he asked cheerfully.

"Malfoy, I, uh…" Ron looked as though he was about to puke. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "I guess I owe you an apology."

Draco glared at him. "Yeah you do."

Ron returned the glare, and as simple as that, everything returned to normal.

Harry was only slightly disappointed – he was expecting something a little more dramatic.

"I'm surprised you aren't demanding Hermione to apologize like you did last time," Ron commented.

"That was because she was at fault for ramming into me last time," Draco replied coolly. "She didn't do anything to me this time. All she did was set Snape's robes on fire. She didn't accuse me of valuing a Slytherin win over my best friend's life." Seeing Ron's ears turn red, he muttered, as though it physically pained him to say so, "But I forgive you, Weasley. This time."

Harry took another bite of his steak.

"Thanks," Ron returned, sounding as though he would rather have stabbed himself with a fork. "Er…I don't know about everyone else though. You've never been exactly popular in Gryffindor, Malfoy…"

Draco huffed. "The one who saved Harry was me. What were they doing at the time? Right, as if staring was supposed to help. So I'm supposed to give a rat's fat ass what they think? Like I said before, Gryffindors aren't known for their brains. But I have to say, they take it a step further than that – they not only lack brain usage, but they also hate it when others use theirs."

The rest of dinner passed in silence between the three of them.

…

"I don't know how you put up with him, Harry." Ron watched as Harry practiced his wand movements. Draco was in the shower.

"I wouldn't say I put up with him," Harry said lightly. " _Reparo!_ " The ripped pieces of parchment on his desk came together. "I actually very much enjoy his company."

"You're joking, right?" Ron gawked.

Harry put his wand down and turned to look at him. "Ron, I know you don't like him. And to be completely honest with you, I can see where you're coming from. But if you can see him from my point of view, you would understand."

"What do you see in him?" Ron asked, sincere.

_"…I was just thinking how I hated all Gryffindors except for you, and this song suddenly started playing out of nowhere, like it's inside of me. And it calmed me down so that I could focus…"_

"Loyalty."

_"…I kept telling myself that you would listen to me, that you would give me a chance to explain, even if no one else does…"_

"Trust."

_"…I don't know how I managed to recall all the right memories of you telling me things just as I needed them to do that spell. I was stressed out as hell…"_

"He values our friendship." Harry smiled. "Whatever his faults may be, I can barely see them in light of these virtues."


	11. Resurfacing Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the beginning of my very controversial story-telling. Please read my profile, and heed the warnings.

"Harry, you look way too happy."

It was really an understatement. Harry was  _ecstatic_. Humming Christmas carols to himself, he packed up his trunk and tried to brush out his hair as best as he could.

Draco had already finished packing and was sitting on his bed, watching his friend amusedly. "Are you that excited to be going back to making robes?" He had resigned himself to the fact that he will probably never understand the puzzle that was Harry Potter. If he was Harry, he'd be doing better things with his time. Like making a shopping list of all the things he wanted his parents to buy him for Christmas.

"Of course. Do visit.  _Colloportus._ " Standing up, he waved his wand, and his trunk shut itself and locked. "Although, to be honest, I'm more looking forward to seeing Madam Malkin again."

"If I could be half as excited as you are to see Mum again, she'd be in for a shock," Ron said. "But then again, Madam Malkin probably doesn't nag at you or fuss over you all day."

Was it just Draco, or was Weasley's voice getting more annoying day by day? He had to applaud Harry's patience. His friend only smiled as he put on his cloak.

"Harry?" Ron was surprised. "She doesn't, does she? But she's not your real mom!"

Tactless. Absolutely tactless. It was a complete mystery to Draco why Harry hadn't cursed him to oblivion yet. He was sure, with Harry's repertoire of magical knowledge, that it wouldn't be too difficult for him to do.

"That doesn't stop her from fussing over me," Harry replied, frowning at the reflection of his hair in the mirror. "It really doesn't bother me. As for the nagging, I don't usually wait for her to tell me twice."

"My family's having a Christmas party at the Burrow if you'd like to come, Harry," Ron said.

Draco could barely hold  _himself_  back from cursing the weasel out of jealousy. He wished he could invite Harry over for the holidays, but his father wouldn't like that.

"I'd be happy to come for a bit. Madam Malkin and I do have other plans for the day though, so I probably won't stay the entire time."

"Do you live with Madam Malkin, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "Of course not, Ron. She's not my official guardian or anything. I'm basically emancipated."

"Must be nice not to have someone telling you to do chores," Ron said, envious.

Draco smirked, immediately seeing an opening for a dig. "I keep forgetting poor people don't have house elves."

"I keep forgetting rich people are lazy pricks," Ron snarled.

Oh, how Draco loved getting under the stupid redhead's skin!

Harry rolled his eyes. "Come on, guys. The train is going to leave soon."

…

Ron groaned inwardly as his parents and Ginny came over – not that he was unhappy to see them per se. He was simply reminded of how crowded the Burrow was going to be during the holidays.

When Ginny drew closer and she saw who was standing next to her brother, she gasped, her eyes wide.

Ron rolled his eyes. "Yes, Ginny, that's Harry Potter."

Harry smiled, trying as best as he could to hide his exasperation. "It's a pleasure, Ginny."

Ginny's mouth opened and closed like a fish before she stepped behind her mom.

Harry sent Ron a questioning look, to which Ron answered with a shrug – Ginny may be his sister, but she was still a girl. Harry, deciding that Ginny was probably just shy, turned to the Weasley patriarch and matriarch. "Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley."

"Ah, wonderful to meet you, Harry! Fred, George, Percy, over here!" Arthur said as he stepped forward to shake Harry's hand.

"Hi, Mum," Fred said.

"Dad," George said.

"We see you've met young Harriekins here."

"Charming, isn't he?"

"He works at Madam Malkin's…"

"Hiding under all our noses all this time!"

"Naughty!"

"Sneaky!"

Over the course of them finishing each other's sentences, they had sandwiched Harry in between them. "Get off me, you two!" Harry laughed. "I wasn't hiding. It was just that no one bothered to look." As he caught sight of Madam Malkin, he wriggled out from between them and rushed towards her. "Madam Malkin!"

"Oh, Harry, dear, it's been too long!" Madam Malkin dropped down to his height and hugged him tightly. "And I see you've come with the Weasleys. But where is…?" She gave him a questioning look.

Harry glanced over to where Draco was talking to his parents. "…hangings are absolutely ghastly…not an ounce of brain in anyone…" Harry could make out some of the things Draco was saying to his parents, and he sighed. "He's hiding our friendship from his parents," he said. "His father doesn't approve of us being friends."

After a silence, Madam Malkin laid a hand on his shoulder. "Come, love. I closed the shop today because of you coming back, and I've made some of your favorite foods. No need to dwell on things outside your control."

…

Harry was back in his element. And the holidays were his favorite times to be at Madam Malkin's shop. Silver and white and sparkling greys decorated the windows. However, despite the colors of the robes, the inside of the shop was cozy, orange lights illuminating the place with their warm glow. As he was bent over, ironing a set of work robes, what looked like a molting feather duster flew into the shop and into the cash register.

Alarmed, Harry stopped what he was doing to investigate. The "feather duster" turned out to be an owl, a very old (ancient) owl. Taking pity on it, he offered it some water and owl treats before untying the letter from its leg.

_Harry,_

_Do you by any chance know how to get dress robes that look decent and don't cost a fortune? I know it's a long shot, but the Ministry is having a holiday ball. Dad's seeing it as an opportunity to convince more people to support the Muggle Protection Act that he wrote up. It matters a lot to him to get it passed._

_If it's not too much trouble, could you let Errol rest with you before sending back a response? He's a bit old._

_Ron_

"A bit old" was a bit of an understatement. Harry glanced at the Daily Prophet on the counter. He had read about an attempt in the Ministry to protect Muggles from potentially harmful magical artefacts. He didn't realize Arthur Weasley was the instigator of that.

He put aside the letter and opened a storage closet. Pulling out several dress robes, he eyed them critically. His sharp eyes could make out some unevenness in the sewing and other flaws due to unexperienced hands.

_Ron,_

_I have some dress robes that I've made before going to Hogwarts. Mind you – I've only started learning, so they're not the best. It's a bit hard to get them sold so they've just been hanging out in storage for a while now. You can come and see if they're decent enough, and if your family wants them, we can negotiate a price._

_Send back an answer with Hedwig. I'll let Errol rest up, and then I'll send him back to you._

_Harry_

…

Ginny didn't remember the last time she and her family went shopping at Madam Malkin's. The robes there were of superior quality, but they were also relatively expensive – even the Hogwarts uniforms. Even before stepping into the shop, she knew her family would never be able to afford a dress robe from there normally.

"I haven't stepped in this shop for who knows how long," her mother said, looking longingly at some of the beautiful dresses on display. However, she grimaced when she saw the prices.

"Welcome to Madam Malkin's!"

Ginny looked up to see Harry in his work robes, sleeves tied back behind him out of the way. She blushed at the sight. There was something endearing about seeing the famous wizard, whom her brother had told her so much about, working in a robes shop, unpretentious, hidden from the eyes of the public.

"Ah, I assume you are here to check out the dress robes I've made?" Harry asked.

Her father nodded. "Now, Harry," he began uncomfortably. "Are you sure about this? I mean…uh…"

Harry blinked. "Of course, Sir. Like I've told Master Ron, these robes are hard to sell. You'd be doing me a favor really. If I may ask, where is Master Percy?"

Ron's face turned a slight red at the title Harry gave him. "He was too busy to come."

Ginny was glad that her brother had enough tact not to tell Harry the truth. The truth was that Percy had been so humiliated at their desperation and indignant at the idea of trying out dress robes made by a first-year Hogwarts student that he refused to come.

"I see. Right this way, please," Harry said and led them to the back of the shop. He opened the storage closet and pulled out a few dress robes. "These aren't made of the best material since they're my first robes, but…"

"Blimey, Harry," Ron breathed.

Ginny, too, stared. Could they really afford these? When Ron had shown them Harry's letter, she had been expecting robes with dimensions that were off, mismatched colors…But these robes appeared quite elegant, more than any robe she had ever owned, more than any robe  _any_  member of her family had ever owned.

"You're joking, Harry," George said, disbelief written all over his face.

"Of course he is," Fred said.

Harry looked confused before embarrassment took over his facial features. "I-I honestly didn't think they were that bad," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to get your hopes up…"

Ginny felt her heart throb. She wanted to tell him that he was misinterpreting their reactions. She wanted to tell him that he was talented, and the dress robes were beautiful. However, she couldn't get the words out.

Her mother, having no such difficulties, swooped down upon him and hugged him, shocking him. "Oh, Harry dear, these are gorgeous."

Ron nodded. "I was kind of expecting something less…well-made. Why is no one else interested?"

"Some were. Until they found out the robes were made by an eleven-year-old that is. (Ginny was definitely glad no one told him the truth about Percy.) Also, I wasn't lying. These are of lesser quality. You can see the unevenness in the stitching…"

"Can you see it, George?"

"I think so, Fred. No wait that's a wrinkle…"

"Definitely a Seeker."

"No wonder he can spot a Snitch from far away."

Her father interrupted them. "So, Harry, how much would these cost?"

Harry smiled. "Let's negotiate."

While the two sat down to talk, Ginny held up one of the dress robes. She was going to be wearing a dress made by Harry Potter. She had heard that muggle girls dream of marrying princes. She didn't know what was so great about princes. She would much prefer a tailor.

…

Draco could barely hide his pleasure. The Ministry was hosting an employee holiday party the weekend before Christmas, and his parents had planned to go to Diagon Alley to get new dress robes for the party. He was excited to see his friend again, although he hoped his father wouldn't bring up the subject of blood purity.

"Draco, dear, are you ready?"

"Yes, Mother," Draco said stepping into the entranceway. He stood up as tall as possible and remembered to stick out his chin proudly. He felt a shiver of pride when his father nodded approvingly.

"Hold onto me then."

Draco took hold of her arm, and they all apparated to the entrance to Diagon Alley. As they approached Madam Malkin's shop, he was less than pleased to see a family of familiar red hair. "What are you doing here, Weasley? Are you buying  _dress robes_  for the party? Can you even afford a  _normal_  set of robes?" Before he could get a response, another voice caught his attention.

"I see that your son is just as…pleasant…as yourself, Lucius."

Draco looked up to see Arthur Weasley, in all his scruffy glory, standing face-to-face with his father.

Lucius, for his part, appeared smug. "I'm surprised to see you here, Arthur, considering the difficulties your family must be facing with the cut in funding to your office. Maybe you should reconsider the law you're trying to get approved."

Arthur's jaw tightened. "If you think blackmailing me is going to work…"

"Arthur, how do I look?" Molly Weasley asked happily as she approached them, wearing white and metal gray dress robes.

It appeared that not even the presence of the Malfoys could dampen her spirits, making Draco wonder what could have possibly put her in such a good mood. It wasn't as though the Weasleys could afford the dress she was wearing.

Arthur turned, and his jaw dropped. "Molly?" he whispered weakly.

"Such a dear he is! He knew this would look good on me before I even got measured!"

Draco had no doubts as to whom she was referring to.

A cheerful voice could be heard from farther inside the shop. "I can help the next person!"

Draco walked further in to see that Madam Malkin was helping the twins while Harry had taken upon himself to measure the youngest Weasley.

Ginny Weasley was blushing furiously as Harry helped her onto a stool in front of a mirror. The tape measure immediately began measuring her shoulders and neck length, and Harry had parchment and a quill out to take down her measurements. "I think white and silver would look very good on you, Miss Ginny. And it would match your mother. I'm assuming you'll be arriving at the party as a family. However, let's go for a shorter length than your mom's. How do you feel about knee-length?"

"That's fine," Ginny squeaked.

Harry smiled and offered her a set of dress robes to try out. "Here, try this on in the dressing room. Then I'll see if we need to make adjustments."

Ginny practically ran to the dressing room and slammed the door behind her.

Harry only looked confused at her behavior. "Was it something I said?" he asked one of the twins tentatively.

George shrugged. "She is acting a little strange."

"More than usual anyway," Fred commented, rolling his shoulders to test out the dress robes he was wearing.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and Ginny stepped out in the dress robes. Fred and George stared. "Woah."

"Ginny?" Ron, the rest of his family, and Draco's parents had come around. Arthur and Molly appeared shocked with disbelief.

Ginny's face turned bright red from all the attention.

"I don't think there's any need for adjustments," Harry said happily. "You look absolutely amazing in it as it is."

Ginny ran back inside the dressing room.

Harry blinked. "I could have sworn that was a compliment," he muttered. He turned to see Draco. "Good afternoon, Master Draco. Is your family here for dress robes too?"

Draco nodded haughtily, aware that his father was watching.

"You can take him, dear. I'll take care of Ron," Madam Malkin said as she finished with Fred.

Harry nodded. "Please, Master Draco…" He led Draco to a stool.

Draco tried to ignore how strange it felt, knowing now that this was Harry Potter, his brilliant friend and childhood hero, who was so carefully taking down his measurements. He couldn't help but feel that it was a waste that Harry was doing this type of work. Not that being Madam Malkin's assistant was a terrible occupation (not like being the head of - what office was it? Misuse of Muggle Toys or something like that), but it just seemed wrong to have Harry, with all his status, fame, money, and talent, doing such menial tasks. But then again, Harry had always been odd in Draco's eyes. "So, Weasley, how are you planning on paying for all these?" he asked, to distract himself from the hyperactive tape measure.

Ron glared at him. "We're getting discounted robes. Not that it's any of your business."

Draco raised an eyebrow at that.

"Madam Malkin has been teaching me how to make dress robes," Harry explained. "Actually, I've been making dress robes all last summer, but it's a bit difficult selling dress robes made by, well, an eleven-year-old. Dress robes are expensive, so customers want to know who made the robes, especially when the style of these robes – the ones I made – differs so much from Madam Malkin's. Ones made by a child tailor are rather off-putting, so they've just been put in a storage closet the last few months. Then Master Ron mentioned the Ministry holiday party, so I offered to sell them to his family at a price they can afford on the condition that they would have to accept whatever problems the robes could have due to my inexperience."

Draco glanced at the robes Ron was trying out. The robes looked perfectly fine (Draco thought the collar was a bit uneven, but it may have been just his imagination).

"Here, Master Draco, try these on," Harry said, handing him a set of black dress robes. "Don't worry. Madam Malkin made these, so they are of highest quality."

By the time Draco stepped out of the dressing room, the Weasleys had finished making their purchases.

Molly Weasley was saying, "I was about to wait until you come over for Christmas to give you this, but then this seemed more appropriate. I haven't gotten new dress robes in such a long time."

Harry was blushing hard, but his expression was pleased. Over his work robes, he was wearing a Weasley jumper. "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley," he said sincerely. "I will see you on Christmas." After the Weasleys left, he turned to Draco. "My apologies, Master Draco, for the wait. These robes look very good on you. What do you think?" he asked, gesturing to the mirror.

Trying to ignore how ridiculous his friend looked, Draco turned back and forth. They were very handsome robes, giving him a regal air, despite his age. "These are good." He turned to his parents, about to ask for their opinions when he noticed that his father was not focused on him but rather on Harry. And he did not like the expression on his father's face – he looked at Harry as though the latter was a bug he would like to squash.

Harry was not oblivious to it either, and his clear discomfort with the situation grew. However, since Madam Malkin was helping Draco's mother, he offered tentatively, "Would you like me to help you with your robes, Sir?"

Lucius's lips tightened before he walked past Harry up to one of the mirrors. "If you're the only one available. Quickly then. I don't have time to waste here more than necessary," he replied coolly.

"Of course, Sir," Harry said demurely.

Draco watched as his friend quickly took down his father's measurements. He had never seen Harry look so nervous – his hands were trembling slightly, and he was avoiding eye contact with the man.

A few minutes later, after Harry had Lucius try on a few robes and stopped at a particularly elegant set, he said softly, "Sir, this one looks very good on you. But it's a bit long at the bottom, so I will need to pull it up a little bit…"

"Get on with it, boy."

Harry promptly knelt down and began hemming up the bottom of Lucius's dress robes. The next few minutes were quiet as he worked, the only sounds coming from the conversation going on between Madam Malkin and Narcissa and from the rest of Diagon Alley outside. "I think this is good, Sir," he said as he stood up, eyes lowered.

Lucius looked at himself in the mirror. "This will do," he drawled. After waiting for Harry to wrap up both his and Draco's robes, he used the top of his cane to tilt up Harry's head by his chin. When the other boy refused to look him in the eye, he ordered coldly, "Look at me, boy."

And Harry obeyed.

Draco watched the scene with a morbid sense of fascination. He didn't quite understand what was going on. He felt intuitively that he should be helping Harry somehow, but that wasn't an option – this was his father after all. He had never seen his friend look so vulnerable – Harry's form was shaking, and it was as though his father had full control over him.

"It's quite interesting, Harry Potter working at a tailor shop," Lucius commented, studying Harry carefully. "I must admit – you're not quite what I expected you to be. I was expecting a little…more." Suddenly a cruel smirk spread over his lips. "Why don't you show me where you belong? Kiss it, boy."

To Draco's shock, Harry lowered his eyes and head and kissed the top of his father's cane. What was wrong with him?

Lucius chuckled, reveling in his power over the human in front of him. Unlike others, this control didn't require blackmail or money. This power ran deeper. "It's rare to find someone who knows where they belong."

Draco wanted to stop his father. His father was harming his friend somehow, even if it wasn't physical. But it was as though he were frozen in place.

Lucius glanced at Madam Malkin and Narcissa, who were both occupied with their conversation. "Put out your hands, boy. Palms up."

Trembling uncontrollably, Harry obeyed.

Lucius pulled his wand out of his cane. "You know what will happen, don't you? Do not move your hands. Do not make a sound." He whipped his wand downwards.

Draco's eyes widened. A mark appeared across Harry's palms, as though his father had taken a switch and lashed at them. It quickly disappeared.

"The interesting thing about this curse is that the mark will disappear, but the pain will remain fresh for at least a week," Lucius drawled. He repeated the spell. And again. And again.

Sweat was beginning to trickle down the sides of Harry's face. Yet he continued to hold out his palms to Lucius's abuse.

After a few minutes, after Draco was certain that Harry's palms were essentially torn apart, Lucius smiled and lightly touched one of the boy's palms. Pleased to see tears immediately springing up even with such a light touch, he asked mockingly, "Would you like me to stop, boy?"

"Yes please, Sir," Harry whispered.

Lucius chuckled. "Very well. Turn them over." After Harry obeyed, he repeated the same procedure on the back of his hands, focusing especially on the knuckles. Putting his wand away into his cane once again, he called out, "Narcissa, are you finished?"

"Just about. Madam Malkin is just wrapping up my robes. Are you and Draco finished?"

"For a while now, but Mr. Potter here turns out to be quite a conversationalist," Lucius replied. "I suppose we will meet again sometime, boy?" He put out his hand for Harry to shake, and Harry obliged, still in a sort of trance. "Not a sound." Lucius gripped his hand hard.

Draco watched in horror as Harry, tears coursing down his face, fell to his knees.

"Come, Draco."

Draco followed his father and mother mindlessly out of the shop, still in shock as to the events that had just happened. When he arrived home, he immediately went to his room, pulled out a piece of parchment, and wrote to his friend. As he handed the note to his owl, he said, "Don't return unless you get a good answer from him." He paused. "Avoid nipping his hands, will you?" As the owl flew off, he felt a bit sick. His wonderful, wonderfully kind friend…his hands, his talented, comforting hands…

…

Harry felt sick.

"Harry, dear, are you alright?" Madam Malkin placed a hand on his forehead. Alarmed, she asked, "You're all in cold sweat – are you sick?"

Not trusting himself to speak, he could only nod.

"Go home, dear. I shouldn't have made you work so hard right after you've gotten back from school."

Harry shook his head and headed towards the fireplace. Taking some Floo powder, he almost passed out from the pain in his hands as he rasped out, "Potter Estate." Falling onto his hands in his living room, he finally let out a cry of pain, long overdue.

Nettle appeared immediately by his side. "Master Harry, what is happened to Master?" she cried in alarm.

"Pain potion," Harry rasped out. "Please, Nettle…" In record time, his house elf had the potion bottle against his lips. Harry drank it eagerly, desperate for relief from the pain in his hands. However, he was soon throwing up all over the wood floor.

"Master Harry!" Nettle was pulling on her ears in panic and worry. She was soon joined by the other house elves, who were not faring much better. Some, especially the younger ones, began to cry at the sight of their beloved master in pain. "I's not know what to do!"

Harry coughed, trying to gain his bearings. "Please…could someone clean up…? The smell…it's making me feel sick…" His vomit was immediately vanished.

_My lord, what happened to you?_ Sasha's worried voice barely registered in his mind.

"Aurora!" Harry rasped out.

His phoenix flew down from her perch.

"My hands, Aurora…if you could heal them for me…" he whimpered out.

Aurora looked rather confused as she saw no wound on his hands. However, she leaned over and blinked tears onto his hands. She looked up at him expectedly.

Harry, having calmed down, let out a soft sigh of resignation. He had forgotten. Phoenix tears couldn't cure curses. He looked up to see all his house elves, Sasha, Aurora…all of them looking at him with worry and alarm. "It's alright," he said, his voice still shaking. "My hands are in pain right now, but it should go away within a week or so."

"Master Harry is in pain?" Blinky looked horrified. "Is there anything Blinky can do for you, sir?"

"I don't think so," Harry replied. "I just need to be alone right now. Please excuse me." He stood up and began walking towards his private chambers, pondering over the events that day as he walked. He didn't understand what had happened between him and Lucius Malfoy. One moment, he was in Madam Malkin's shop. The next, it was as though he was transported back in time. He had been aware that he was no longer at the Dursleys. However, there was something about Lucius Malfoy that brought up all his memories, instincts, and emotions from his time at the Dursleys – the pain, the fear, the submissiveness, the feelings of worthlessness...

_Tap, tap, tap._

Harry looked out his window to see Draco's owl tapping away. He was about to let him in when he remembered. Sighing, he called out, "Nettle."

Nettle appeared immediately next to him. "Yes, Master Harry, Sir?"

"My apologies, Nettle, but could you open the window and get the letter for me please? My hands are a bit out of commission right now."

Nettle nodded vigorously, her ears flopping everywhere. "Of course, Sir. Anything for you, Sir!" She opened the window, and when the owl landed on a desk, she took the letter from him. Opening it, she held it up to her master.

_Harry,_

_What the hell happened?_

_Draco_

Harry chuckled, even in his pain. Draco...ever so demanding. If only Harry could answer that question himself.

…

"Draco."

"Yes, father?"

"You say you and Potter are in the same dorm room?"

Draco had a feeling the following conversation was not going to be pleasant. "Yes, father, we are."

"I've changed my mind about you interacting with him. In fact, I very much encourage you to do so."

Draco was confused. What caused his father to change his views?

His father fingered his cane. "He would make a very good, ah, toy for you, Draco."

Draco stared. "What do you mean, father?"

"You were paying attention at Madam Malkin's, were you not?" His father chuckled. "It will not be hard for you to control him. Treat him as you would any of our house elves. I can certainly teach you the spell I performed on him today for you to punish him whenever you need a source of entertainment."

"How did you manage to control him, father?" Draco asked, tasting bitterness in his mouth.

"It's quite simple really, Draco. You simply have to believe he will carry out your orders. I do not know nor do I care to know what in his past had made him so tamable. However, with the right attitude towards him, Draco, you can turn him into quite a well-trained dog."

Draco paled at his father's answer. How often had Harry said that to him? He simply had to believe his commands would be carried out. However, Harry's words coming from his father's mouth did not sound nearly as benevolent.

…

_My lord, do you know why that happened?_

Harry stared into the fireplace as he thought.  _"I have ideas, Sasha, but that is all they are – ideas."_  He turned to see his familiar's dark worried gaze on him.  _"Don't be so worried,"_ he said, smiling sadly.  _"I'll be okay_." He wished he could touch her to reassure her, but his hands hurt terribly with even the lightest touch.

Sasha didn't look convinced.  _What ideas?_

_"I think..."_ he paused, wondering if he should tell her. It wasn't something he wanted to think about, let alone talk about. Not to mention the fact that she didn't even know about his past.  _"It's a long story, and I am not ready to tell it."_

Sasha was silent for a while, before she bowed her head slightly.  _Please be alright. That's all I really want._

_"Sasha, come closer."_  When she slithered up close enough to him, he carefully leaned over and gently kissed the top of her head.  _"Thank you. I will be."_

The snake swayed slightly before she laid her head on his lap.

_"I am very glad to have you by my side, Sasha."_

_Riley ran over to him as he collapsed against a tree, tears streaming down his face. The dog licked at his face before laying his head on Harry's lap._

_Harry continued sobbing for a while. "Riley," he whimpered out. "Please don't ever leave me…"_

_Riley stood up and situated himself between Harry's legs, laying his head on the boy's shoulder._

_"I am very glad to have you by my side, Riley."_

Harry blinked away the memory. He had promised Riley, years ago, that he was going to live for both of them. Fueled by a burst of determination, he stood up, surprising Sasha. "Nettle!"

Nettle popped up next to him. "What's it Master Harry needs?"

"Come to the library with me," Harry said as he began walking. "We're going to break this curse. I have too many things to do for my hands to be unusable for a week." However, even as he said that, he knew that breaking Lucius's curse would only be treating the symptom, not the cause, of the true disease. He didn't know how, nor was he ready, to treat the cause.


	12. The Truth about Healing

In the quiet stillness of the night, in the Potter Manor library, a house elf, a wizard, and a snake were surrounded by books on curses and other types of Dark Magic.

"Can you open this one for me, Nettle?"

Nettle opened the book her master had nodded to.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed in concentration. " _I don't understand why people feel the need to create so many curses_ ," he commented. " _You would have thought one cutting curse was enough. But apparently, people feel the need for several dozen? How do people even remember all this?_ "

_Are you hoping to find a countercurse here, my lord?_

_"Not an exact countercurse per se. But a weakness."_  Harry frowned when the page did not contain what he was looking for.  _"Every spell has certain assumptions associated with it. For example, the Rictusempra spell. It makes the assumption that the victim is ticklish. If the victim is not ticklish, the spell falls flat. This is a foundation of theoretical spellwork. If you can find the assumptions associated with a spell, you can try to break the spell by breaking the assumptions. It's not guaranteed to work, but it is a start. Unfortunately, I haven't seen any curse in these books that acts quite the same as the one Lucius cast on me."_

_Do you think the old man would know?_

_"Dumbledore? Maybe. But I don't really want to bother him about this. It's not that important, and he's busy."_

_My lord…you can't touch anything without feeling extreme pain! How is that not important?_

Harry shook his head.  _"He really is busy. And I don't really want to…"_  He was about to say "be a burden" but then changed his mind, " _...be a bother."_ "Can you open up that book over there, Nettle? That one looks a bit more promising." Skimming through the table of contents, he said, "Go to page 387 please."

_Those familiar with muggle physics would be able to relate these laws to concepts such as conservation of energy. Once a spell is cast and finished, the magic having gone into that spell can neither increase nor decrease on its own without a source or outlet. The magic will be used up gradually in carrying out the effects of the spell..._

" _I think I have a solution that might work. If I'm not mistaken about the nature of this curse, it operates by causing pain in relatively small doses when my hands are not touching anything. That's how it can last up to a week. That's based on the assumption that the victim would not have it in them to aggravate the nerves further. The curse amplifies the pain according to the severity of the aggravations. But in order to do so, it would have to use a lot of the magic put into it at the time of its casting. The 'total' amount of pain must remain the same."_

Sasha stared at him anxiously.  _You're not thinking of shortening the length of this curse by speeding the release of the magic stored in it, are you?_

_"It certainly is an option. I would rather get it over with quickly than having to watch myself in fear over the next week. I don't think there is an easy way of breaking this curse, especially when I don't know the nature of the spell cast."_ He paused.  _"I must admit. If I could like the Dark Arts, I would appreciate the ingenuity of this curse a bit more. It causes the victim's body to refuse the ingestion of potions so you can't numb the pain or something similar. It doesn't cause physical damage, so something like phoenix tears can't heal its effects. That leaves using spellwork, which I can't do with my hands in this state. The only obvious option then is to use the magical laws binding curses in general."_ "Nettle."

"Yes, Master Harry, sir? You found a cure, Sir?"

Harry nodded. "Boil some water in a pot. Then bring it here along with some burn-healing paste." He paused. "And a gag, too, if you please. Hopefully, if this goes well, this curse will be broken before the night is over." When she brought him all the items he requested, he said, "Now for the hard part…Nettle, after I put my hands in the water, I need you to keep them there until I say otherwise or until I lose consciousness, whichever comes first."

His house elf stared at him in horror. "Nettle can't do that, Sir! Nettle won't, Nettle won't!" she cried, pulling at her ears in anguish.

"Nettle…"

"WON'T!" She blocked her ears and continued, "WON'T! WON'T! WON'T!"

Harry waited patiently for her to calm down. At least this was expected. Part of him was starting to doubt his own decision. The pain in his hands right then was bearable for the most part. Submerging them in boiling water…he must be crazy. When Nettle quieted, he said kindly, "Nettle, I'm not going to force you to help me with this if you are that much against it."

Nettle blinked, slowly letting go of her ears. "Master Harry won't force Nettle to hurt him?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I am asking you for your help, but that choice is yours. I won't make it an order." He paused to let his words sink in before continuing, "But if you do not help me, Nettle, I will be in pain for a week as opposed to a much shorter amount of time."

Nettle looked at him with fearful eyes.

Harry frowned. "Why are you scared, Nettle?"

She moaned, "Nettle will hurt Master whether she say yes or no!"

Before she could go into another panic attack, Harry said quickly, "Nettle, calm down!" As she obeyed his command, he said firmly, "You didn't curse me. Lucius Malfoy did. Whether you say yes or no doesn't change that fact. What it does change is how long this curse will affect me."

Nettle groaned, clutching at her head.

Harry smiled at the sight, not because he enjoyed seeing his house elf in such a dilemma but because, at that moment, his chest felt like bursting with appreciation for his house elf and her dedication to him. Even before she answered him, he already knew her decision.

"Nettle will do what Master wants," she said, resigned. "Yes, she will. She will save her master from the evil Malfoy curse, and her master will be happy. What does Master want Nettle to do?"

Harry nodded to the gag. "Gag me – that way, I won't end up biting my own tongue. Then once my hands are in the water, use your magic to keep them there until I tell you otherwise or until I fall unconscious, whichever comes first. I am willing to bet this curse won't allow the latter, but just in case..."

Nettle looked sick as she held up the gag to his lips.

Harry bit down on the gag and knelt in front of the boiling pot of water, kept heated by magic. His heart was pounding loudly in his chest. His decision had certainly been easier to make when the ordeal wasn't so imminent.

Seeing his hesitation and need for encouragement, Sasha slithered up to him slowly and laid her head on his shoulder.  _My lord, it will be over soon._

That was all he needed. Harry plunged his hands in the water, and the pain drowned out every other sense he possessed, shooting up his arms and to the rest of his body. It was as though he were being electrocuted, his muscles feeling as though they were about to tear themselves apart.

Sasha had been bracing herself for a scream, but again, her master proved to be quite different from normal children. When his hands entered the water, only a soft whine escaped through the gag. After that, she only heard heavy breathing punctuated by deep sighs, as though he were struggling to breathe properly. To her surprise and disgust, rather than his hands turning pink or red from the heat of the water, thin black stripes appeared on his hands, and a black substance began to seep out from them into the water. A foul smell began to permeate the air coming from the pot. Only about a minute later, the stripes began to fade.

Harry opened his eyes. The pain had decreased considerably. Suddenly, a sharp pain, distinct from his previous agony, fired up. Recognizing the breaking of the curse and the beginning of the natural burning from the boiling water, he cried out, "Nettle, let go!" And with that, he yanked his hands out of the water. "Can you open the burn paste, Nettle?" he panted. After applying the paste to his hands, he let out a sigh of relief. His hands, though tender, did not burst into pain. He smiled tiredly at his house elf. "You did well, Nettle. Thank you."

Nettle bowed low. "Is the Malfoy curse gone?"

"Yes. And are you alright?"

Nettle nodded vigorously. The image of her master in pain was still fresh in her mind, his sighs worse than screams to her. However, now that he was no longer in pain, it had been worth it.

Harry sniffed. "What is that  _smell_?" he muttered, wrinkling his nose. He glanced at the pot and, seeing the blackened water, grimaced. "If that is the color and smell of Lucius's magic, it certainly suits him."

…

"Draco, dear, are you sure you don't want to invite Vincent and Gregory over? You must be so lonely staying in your room all day," his mother asked him, worry lining her features. "You used to be so close with them."

Draco shook his head. "I just don't really feel like spending time with anyone, mother. Please excuse me." With that, he walked off towards his room. Before he closed the door, he could hear his mother telling his father, "I really worry about him, Lucius. He's not acting like himself. Do you think it's the Gryffindors maltreating him?"

Draco sighed and slid down against the door. It was a lie. He was lonely. But he also didn't want to spend time with Crabbe or Goyle…or really any of the other Slytherins now that he thought about it. He missed spending time with his best friend. Harry had a warm presence that contrasted sharply with the vibe surrounding many of the Slytherins he used to hang out with. It also contrasted with the atmosphere of the Malfoy Manor. It was strange – he had never felt this way in his own home before.

But there was no way in hell he was going to bring Harry to the manor. Especially not after what his father had said to him.

_Tap, tap, tap._

Draco stood up to let his owl in. "Finally," he muttered. "Took Harry long enough." He had been worried sick…

_Draco,_

_I'm fine. My hands don't hurt anymore, which is how I'm able to write to you now._

_As for what happened, I'm not entirely sure myself. I have ideas, but I would rather not tell you about them for now. Sorry – I'm not trying to be secretive. It's just a bit difficult to talk about._

_I hope you've been enjoying your break so far. I also hope you'll enjoy your early present – Merry Christmas, Draco._

_Harry_

Draco raised an eyebrow at his present. A piece of parchment? Did Harry want some kind of response? Was his present just openness to communication? Miffed at the last idea, Draco took a quill and decided to send a response back on the same piece of parchment. He may be missing Harry's company, but he had some pride!

_Prat,_

_First of all, what kind of a Christmas present is this? I am in no shortage of parchment. And it's insulting that you would think that communication with you is a good Christmas present. Honestly? Do you think that just because you're Harry bloody Potter, simply being able to write you a letter is a gift?_

_Second of all, I was hoping your hands were okay. But now, I regret hoping that, if this is what you're sending me for a Christmas present._

_Third of all, my break's going splendid, thank you very much! I just spent two days worrying about you, only to be brushed off and sent a mediocre present. Merry bloody Christmas to you, too, you prat._

_Draco_

Hurt, Draco crossed his arms and debated sending Harry the present he got him. Unlike Harry it seemed, he had actually put a lot of thought into it, especially since he knew his friend wouldn't care for pretentious presents, like the expensive gifts he would have bought people like Blaise Zabini.

Draco rubbed his eyes. Was he imagining things? The words on the parchment disappeared only to be replaced with the following:

_Message sent._

What the hell was that supposed to mean? A few seconds later, that note disappeared, and the following took its place:

_Draco,_

_I didn't mean to insult you. I thought that maybe you would like a more convenient form of communication than owl delivery._

_Harry_

Draco gawked. "Woah." As the words disappeared again after a few seconds, he wrote:

_Harry, what is this?_

And Harry's response:

_It's a parchment enchanted with a very simplified Protean Charm. Whatever you write on the parchment will disappear and reflect on another piece of parchment that I have with me, enchanted with the same spell. Once you've read a message from me, the words will disappear within a few seconds. Needless to say, you probably shouldn't leave this lying around._

Oh. Draco felt like an idiot. Of course Harry wouldn't just send him a plain piece of parchment for a Christmas present.

_You could have told me, you git. How was I supposed to know that is what it does? I thought you just sent me a piece of normal parchment._

There was a pause before Harry replied:

_Sorry. It must have slipped my mind to include that in the letter. I wrote it up late at night, after testing your present to make sure it works (it was quite a painstaking process, mind you)._

Draco rolled his eyes, but he was very pleased with his present. He happily wrote a letter back to Harry (just for a bit of sincerity) and gave it to his owl along with his Christmas present.

As he sat down to continue writing, he wondered if he should tell Harry about the conversation he had with his father.

…

_"Freak!"_

Uncle Vernon's voice had been cropping up often in his head the last few days – ever since the incident at Madam Malkin's. Harry opened the door to his stable, which was welcomingly warm compared to the harsh winter cold outside. Walking over to Star's stall, he knocked lightly to alert her to his presence before opening the stall door and entering.

Star snorted nervously and retreated slightly at the intrusion.

_"Against the wall, boy."_

"Star, Star, it's me," Harry calmed her. It had been a while since he visited the stable – not since the summer before Hogwarts.

She stilled at the sound of his voice before approaching him tentatively.

_"WHAT HAPPENED? YOU STUPID BOY, ARE YOU TRYING TO BURN THE HOUSE DOWN?"_

"Good girl," he whispered as he petted her nose. "Sorry to bother you so late, Star. But I'm not feeling well, and I need someone to talk to. And I think you know my situation more than anyone else."

As though sensing his troubles, she stepped closer, the entire length of her head pressed against his chest.

Smiling at the calm that spread through him at her gesture, he sat down on her straw bed, and she lay down next to him, close enough to him to allow him to pet her head. She had always been his favorite in the stables – in her, he had found a kindred spirit. "I've never told anyone else about this, Star," he said. "But before I came here, I was in a really bad place. My relatives were very cruel people." His eyes wandered over her body and scars, which remained clear even to that day. "It's been so long, Star, but the memories are coming back. And I'm scared. I fear I may be losing my mind."

_Harry held up the bridle. As expected, Star's ears once again pinned themselves against her head, and he could see the whites of her eyes. She didn't move, but he could tell she was frightened…_

_Star held still as Harry slid the bit into her mouth. Surprisingly, she did not hesitate to open her mouth to take in the bit, although Harry concluded that this must have been another doing of her previous owners…_

_"Good girl, Star." He put on the rest of the headgear without much problem and then attached the reins._

Harry hugged her head tightly. "I'm so, so sorry, Star. I should never have done that. I wondered why neither my grandfather nor my father tried to get you used to being ridden again. Now I understand. Our minds, with their memories, can easily return us to those nightmares at the smallest reminder. It must have been torture for you every time I tried to ride you, but I didn't see that. I thought I was helping. But I should have just let you deal with things on your own time." He pulled away to look at her in the eyes. "How can you still bear to look at me, let alone care for me?"

Star nuzzled him affectionately.

"How do you deal with the memories?" Harry whispered. "Please tell me…" He knew she couldn't give him an answer, but opening up to her in his moment of need soothed his weary heart, if only a little bit. To his surprise, however, she raised her head and turned towards the stable door. He followed her gaze, and his eyes widened at the object of her attention. The bridle. "You want to be ridden?" He was quite confused.

She didn't answer him.

Standing up, he opened her stall door and took the bridle in his hands. Once again, he was surprised when she stood up and walked towards him without being called. "I don't understand," he said softly. "You used to be terrified of this…" Then it clicked. The bridle fell from his hands. "You faced it…" He swallowed. "It wasn't the conditioning, was it? You took the bit because you wanted to. You were determined to face your past and your fears."

It was just like fixing a broken bone that healed the wrong way. One can't just ignore it – problems would crop up eventually. One had to break it again to allow it to heal correctly.

Harry sighed, picking up the bridle and hanging it on the hook once again. He sat down on the straw bed. "I can't say I'm completely surprised." Intuitively, he knew his experiences would catch up with him eventually. But for over two years, he had avoided facing them, burying himself in work and study. If even a hint of his memories started surfacing, he would distract himself with some large project. "I'm just not ready, Star. I don't know where you got your strength."

_"Why don't you show me where you belong, worthless boy?"_

"Some Gryffindor I am. I wonder if the hat sorted me wrong."

…

It was Christmas Eve, and Dumbledore, knowing his presence was expected at the Hogwarts feast the next day, decided that Christmas Eve would be the best time to visit Harry for the holiday of giving. As he approached Madam Malkin's shop, he saw that the shop had closed. However, knowing that he had a perpetual invite, he knocked on the door. He did not have to wait long for the door to open and reveal a rather exhausted-looking Harry, who nonetheless beamed up at him. "Good afternoon, Harry."

"Hi, Professor." Harry cocked his head. "May I ask what your plans are here, Sir? Madam Malkin and I were about to go home separately, and maybe you wanted to spend time with both of us?"

"Ah. That works out fine, Harry. I would like more to spend some time with you."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Let me just grab my cloak, Sir." With that, he ran inside, grabbed his cloak, and called back as he left the shop, "I'll see you tomorrow, Madam Malkin!"

"Be safe, dear!"

Harry closed the door behind him as he clasped his cloak around himself. "Do you have a place in mind, Sir?"

"I do actually, Harry. Please hold on to me." After Harry held onto his arm, Dumbledore apparated to what appeared to be a small village in the mountains. "A nice change of scenery, don't you think?" He chuckled at the expression on his companion's face. He didn't think that Harry, since taken from the Dursleys, had been to many places outside of his estate, Diagon Alley, and Hogwarts. Here, it was almost surreal - a tiny village lit up with Christmas lights surrounded by dark mountains and swirling snow.

"Yes, Sir," Harry breathed.

Dumbledore led Harry to a small restaurant, where a short witch took them to their seats. "You look rather tired, Harry."

"It's been busy, Sir. Christmas and all."

Dumbledore studied the young boy in front of him. Harry was not meeting his eyes, which was rather strange for him. "Harry?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"Is there something you would like to tell me?"

Harry's head jerked up. "N-no, Sir," he stammered, wary.

"I see." Dumbledore was not a fool. He knew something had happened since Harry had left Hogwarts for the holidays. However, out of respect for his companion, he did not press further. "Now, Harry, there is something personal I would like to talk to you about. A request if you will."

"What is it, Sir?" Harry finally looked him in the eye.

Dumbledore smiled. Such pure, innocent eyes – he would never cease to be in awe of Harry's spirit, which, though damaged, remained uncorrupted. "I have a very close friend. I believe you've heard of Nicolas Flamel?"

"The famous alchemist, Sir?"

"The very same. He came to me the other day. You see, he's quite advanced in years, and he has decided that it is time for him to move on. So he has requested that I find him a suitable student to whom he would pass on his knowledge and his spirit." Dumbledore peered over his glasses meaningfully at Harry. "It shouldn't be a surprise that I have recommended you to him, but I can see that you are surprised anyway."

"Why me, Sir?" Harry asked. "I have nowhere near the experience in magic as some other students."

"Do you know what the holy grail of alchemy is, Harry?"

"The Philosopher's Stone, Sir?"

"Correct, my dear boy. And can you tell me what the Stone does?"

"It can turn metal into gold and can be used to create the Elixir of Life."

"Correct again, Harry. And do you know the sole owner of the only Philosopher's Stone in existence?"

"I assume Mr. Flamel?"

Dumbledore nodded. "And do you think that Nicolas, who has lived a quiet life for the last several hundred years and who has decided to embrace death, would want a student who would seek to use the Stone to become wealthy and immortal, even if they are brilliant at magic?" He paused to let the words sink in before saying softly, "Of course not, Harry. He wants a student who is like himself in all but experience and age." He chuckled. "That is not to say that you are not brilliant at magic yourself, from the rumors circulating around. You do not have to give your answer now. But I advise you to think it over."

Harry was quiet for a while before saying, "Professor, I want to do this. I really do. But what about Madam Malkin? And school? And my home?"

"Ah, Harry, you do not need to worry. Time is something you're not going to run out of."

Harry only gave him a confused look.


	13. Truth Under Lies' Cloak

_Harry was excited. He had just gotten his school report, indicating that his level of reasoning and knowledge was beyond the typical student. His teacher had beamed at him and had even called him to her desk after school to tell him that he was talented, a prodigy in the making. Surely, his aunt and uncle would be proud of him now! Maybe his uncle might even lighten his beatings, which he explained was to beat the freakishness out of him._

_Harry almost tripped over his oversized pants in his excitement. When he entered the house, he saw that his cousin was already in the kitchen with his aunt and uncle. "Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia! Look at what I've got!"_

_His uncle snatched his report out of his hand, and as his gaze went over the paper, his face turned redder and redder in anger._

_Harry shrank back. His uncle's face turning red was never a good sign. But what had he done wrong?_

_Vernon threw the report on the dining table, and Dudley leaned over to take a look. Then he started crying – Dudley had already mastered the art of crocodile tears. "Daddy, his report is better than mine!"_

_"I know, Dudley," his uncle said dangerously. "Boy, strip."_

_Confusion and fear made Harry hesitate, which earned him a slap across his face, sending his glasses flying._

_"If you dare hesitate again, boy, you will get much worse," Vernon said coldly._

_Harry immediately took off his clothes._

_"Now, Dudley, how do you want to punish him?" Vernon asked, smiling nastily._

_Dudley stared at his vulnerable cousin before him, who sent him a look begging for mercy, and said, "Can I cane him?"_

_"Of course, Dudley. The cane is by the door."_

_"Well, Potter? Go get it for me."_

_Harry quivered uncontrollably as he went to get the instrument for his own beating. He handed the cane over to his cousin before asking as was customary, his voice barely above a whisper, "How do you want me, Sir?"_

_"Lean over the table, Potter!" Dudley ordered excitedly._

_Harry was quick to obey, already breaking out in cold sweat._

_"How much should I give him, Daddy?"_

_"To your heart's content, Dudley!"_

_Harry braced himself. A soft, almost inaudible grunt escaped him at the first lash. His legs trembled from the pain._

_"Daddy, his butt is jiggling!"_

_"Hit it harder, and it'll jiggle more, Dudley. If you can make him scream, you can get an extra pint of ice cream tonight..."_

Harry's eyes snapped open. Groaning, he sat up. The sky was just beginning to brighten, signaling the beginning of what should be a happy celebration of gift-giving and joy. But after that nightmare, his fifth night in a row of nightmares, he was beginning to wonder if he'll have the strength to make all his planned visits that day.

Harry remembered that day. The first time he had to submit to his cousin's cruelty. It wasn't like at school, where he often had the chance of escape. He cringed at the memory of the humiliation – he could almost feel his spirit shrinking. Dudley had laughed at his pain, ignoring his silent pleas and finding his writhing amusing. Needless to say, he never again got high marks in school, making sure to have lower scores than Dudley in everything. They were bad enough that his primary school teachers thought he may have been mentally handicapped. One of his greatest reliefs entering the wizarding world was that he was no longer restrained in his intellect.

Harry rubbed his eyes tiredly. Sometimes he wondered how he could have slept as a child. Standing up, he noticed Draco's present on his bedside table. Right…Draco had insisted that he not open it until Christmas. He picked it up and began unwrapping it.

It was an album, with the first few pages already filled with pictures of him, Draco, Hermione, and even Ron, although there was an arrow pointing to Ron calling him a "freckled tosser – but he can be okay I guess. Still undecided." Draco's commentary littered the filled pages. It was so Draco. Had Harry not been so tired with visions of his most recent nightmare still plaguing him, he would have laughed.

...

_"HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?"_

_"I-I don't know, Sir…"_

_"You lie! But I know how to get the truth out of you, boy! The only thing you seem to understand is a good beating!"_

_"Please, Sir, I don't know…"_

_"TELL THE TRUTH!"_

...

_"Daddy, Harry hit me at school today."_

_"Did he, Dudley?"_

_"Please, Sir, no, I didn't…"_

_"SILENCE, BOY! ARE YOU CALLING DUDLEY A LIAR? Dudley, cane the truth out of him."_

...

Ginny tried not to let her nervousness show. She wasn't thick – she could tell Harry was exasperated at their first meeting and bewildered at their second meeting. She didn't want to be a fan girl around him and make him uncomfortable, but it was difficult when she could hardly think straight in his presence. It also didn't help that her brother often told her stories about his friend.

Ron told her about the troll and told her it was a secret, and she kept it, although she didn't understand why it had to be kept a secret. He also told her about the invention of the Defading Charm and Harry's seemingly natural talent and creativity with anything that was magical.

And that was all on top of the fact that he was so kind as to help her family keep their pride at the Ministry ball, which had gone better than her father had hoped. According to him, it seemed that he got quite a few Wizengamot officials convinced of passing his proposed bill.

_Knock, knock._

Ginny nearly dropped the plate of food she was carrying. Was that him?

"Charlie! Bill, your hair!" her mother could be heard exclaiming.

Ginny relaxed.

"Mum, get off! I like my hair this way!" Bill said, ducking into the kitchen. "Hi, Gin."

Ginny grinned as he put an arm around her shoulders. It was great having Bill back. "Hi!" she chirped just as Charlie came in.

"It's a crowd as always," Charlie said.

Ginny agreed with him. The Weasley extended family was quite large. It seemed as though more came after Aunt Muriel stopped coming after the stunt Fred and George pulled off.

"Ron, when did you say he was coming?" her mother asked.

"I dunno. He said he'll be late because he has plans with Madam Malkin."

Ginny felt the butterflies flutter faster in her stomach as the fantasies started coming. The idea of a strong, handsome hero with a sensitive, affectionate side to him…she could dream all day! And so dream she did. As she helped her mother cook, she imagined his arms around her. As she greeted guests and helped them with their cloaks, she imagined him telling her how pretty and funny he thought she was. Before she knew it, the sky outside was dark.

Suddenly Ron jumped up from his seat. "Oh no!"

"What is it, Ron?"

"I forgot to tell Harry where the Burrow is! And his fireplace isn't connected to ours!"

Ginny's heart sank. Here, she had gotten so excited at the idea of seeing him again. Suddenly, there was a knock on their door. Dejected, she walked over to open it.

"Hullo."

Ginny gawked.

Harry, looking more tired than she had ever seen, or imagined, him, stood in front of her. "Sorry for being late."

Ginny still stared at him.

"Gin, what are you doing?" Bill had come to the door. "Oh, you must be Harry Potter." He grinned. "Good to see you! You better come in quickly – Ron's having a panic attack right now thinking he forgot to give you a way of reaching us."

"He did forget," Harry said as he stepped in. "But I found you guys, so it's not a big deal."

Ginny stood frozen for a second before closing the door. However, she didn't miss the fact that all the snow in front of their door was melted. She came back to the dining table to see that Harry and Charlie were in a lively conversation about dragons.

"Why so interested in dragons, Harry?" Charlie was asking.

Harry smiled fondly. "Well, it would be strange if I wasn't. I actually raised a dragon. I released him just this spring."

The rest of the table got quiet.

Percy was the first to break the silence. "That's rubbish. Breeding dragons is illegal."

"I don't have a license to breed dragons," Harry confirmed. "But I also don't breed them, so that's not really relevant to me. I found the egg and took care of it is all I did.  _That_ I actually do have a license for."

Percy snorted disbelievingly. "You don't come off to me as a liar, Harry."

And with that, whispers could be heard around the table.

"That boy has some nerve! To a table full of adults, no less!"

"That's what happens when you grow up with no parents…"

The twins and Ron looked at a loss as to how to respond to the accusations.

Harry frowned, his eyes taking on a somewhat haunted look, and Ginny felt her temper flare up. "I believe him," she said angrily to her brother. "Just because he says something unlikely doesn't mean he's lying!" Ginny tried to ignore the surprised but appreciative look Harry sent her, or else, she'd forget her nerve.

Percy seemed taken aback by her outburst. "Ginny, there's no way…"

"There's one way to settle this," Bill interrupted quickly. "Harry, why don't you simply show your license to him? I'm not saying you are a liar, but I think you understand that unlikely claims should be supported by some sort of evidence, at least until we get to know you better."

Ginny turned to Harry, silently hoping that he would prove himself. She didn't need proof, but she hated that some of her ruder, more skeptical relatives were demeaning him.

Harry caught her look, placed his hand on the table, and what appeared to be a metal rectangular plate materialized beneath his hand.

Bill chuckled. "Impressive, Harry."

Charlie looked as though he had found his soulmate. "Blimey! Tell me all about this dragon of yours!"

Harry's eyes lit up, and he launched into stories of his dragon's first bite of meat, his first flying lesson…One would think he was talking about his firstborn child.

Ginny had calmed down, and now, she listened to his stories, ignoring the whispers of disbelief going around the table as one after another, her relatives passed the license between themselves. And the more she listened to him, the more she fell in love with his voice…

"Where's he now, Harry?" Charlie asked.

"Probably flying around in the valleys somewhere," Harry said vaguely.

"Think I can meet him?" her brother asked excitedly.

Harry laughed. "Of course. I'll be paying him a visit soon if you want to come."

Her heart beating fast, Ginny squeaked out, "Can I come with?" Blushing hard, she mentally cursed herself for sounding so nervous in front of him.

Harry was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face before he said quietly, "I can bring him here for you now if you'd like."

Silence.

Ginny blinked in shock before stammering, "What?"

Harry repeated himself, "I can bring him here for you now if you'd like." He paused. "Assuming, of course, he agrees. But he doesn't disagree with me much, so he'll probably come."

Feeling faint, she whispered, shaken, "I'd like that."

Harry stood up. "Then I'll go get him. Please excuse me." And with that, he grabbed his cloak and disappeared out their door.

In the silence, Ron asked uncertainly, "Is this like…safe?"

After about twenty minutes, the windows lit up. Ginny gasped. In front of their yard, flames roared up into the sky, appearing to set most of their property on fire. She could have sworn she heard a beautiful melody echoing throughout their house, but she couldn't be sure. The flames quickly died down to reveal the most magnificent creature she had ever set her eyes on.

Charlie stood up, his eyes wide with awe. "I never thought I'd see one so up close. Opaleyes aren't found in Romania…" With that, he grabbed his cloak and ran outside.

There was a pause before Fred and George whooped and followed him. "Let's go see a dragon!"

Chaos was quick to erupt after them as everyone tried to make it out the door. Soon only Ginny was left at the table.  _I can bring him here for you now if you'd like._  Could it just be her hopeful imagination, or did Harry really do this as a personal favor to her? Would Harry have done it if someone else, like Charlie, had asked? Her heart brimming with hope, she grabbed her cloak and ran outside.

Almost everyone but Charlie was staying as far as possible from the dragon while still keeping it in view. Ginny went right up next to her brother.

"Amazing…" Charlie breathed out. "That dragon is a natural alpha. You can see the confidence in his eyes. He knows where he stands."

Harry was standing next to the dragon's head, holding what appeared to be a flute in his hand. He walked over to Ginny and said, "His name is Ferdinand." He grinned. "I think he'd be pretty happy to show off what he can do. Ferdinand, breathe." He lifted the flute to his lips and blew a single, drawn out note.

Ginny gasped as the dragon unfurled his wings, lifted his head to the sky, and breathed out. A jet of vivid red flames shot out of his mouth into the sky, illuminating the area all around them.

"Ferdinand, fly." A different note.

The dragon spread out his wings, and soon, he was in the air. Powerful gusts of wind from his takeoff sent some of her relatives off their feet.

"And sing, my friend." Another note.

Ginny's heart pounded hard as she heard the dragon let out a cross between a roar and a screech – high pitch with so much resonance that vibrations could be felt within her.

As Harry blew another note, the dragon landed gracefully in front of them, his head so close that Ginny could touch it. "Go on," Harry said to her. "He won't hurt you."

Swallowing hard, she reached up and laid her hand on his nose. She almost fainted when he snorted, as though amused.

"I have heard that Opaleyes would be the most trainable out of all the dragons because of how relatively unaggressive they are, but to think that you have this one trained so well," Charlie was saying to Harry.

Ginny could see her other relatives coming closer, less fearful after seeing her pet the dragon without injury.

However, when one of them tried to touch him, the dragon reared back with a snarl. "Potter, what is the meaning of this?" he said indignantly.

Harry said calmly, "You should learn some respect and humility before approaching a creature such as a dragon. He's not some interesting attraction that you can just go up to and pet just to say that you've pet a dragon before."

"Are you expecting me to grovel before him?"

Harry frowned, and Ginny could tell he was annoyed. "Do you see Ginny groveling?" he asked tightly.

"Mr. Dragon, would you allow us to touch your nose?"

Ginny couldn't decide whether to admire or laugh at Fred and George's approach to the dragon. Simply ask it. In English.

"His name is Ferdinand," Harry said, chuckling.

"Does he understand English, Harry?" George asked.

"No, but he will understand your tone."

Fred cleared his throat and repeated, "Mr. Ferdinand, would you allow us to touch your nose?"

To Ginny's surprise, Ferdinand let out a huff that could pass for a chuckle and lowered his head close to the twins – as he did with her. Fred reached out to touch him but stopped part-way, looking uncertain. But Ferdinand followed through the rest of the way.

"And that is what it means to show respect to a dragon," Harry said softly. "It doesn't really matter the exact method, at least not with Ferdinand. The idea is that you make sure he is okay with you touching him in the first place and don't make assumptions." He stepped back. "The rest of you can go for it. Just remember to respect him if he doesn't seem to want you to touch him."

Ginny watched as her relatives tried their luck with Ferdinand. Unsurprisingly, he had taken a liking to Charlie, going so far as to nuzzle him slightly, and unsurprisingly, he refused a lot of them, including Percy. He seemed to like Bill and find Ron amusing, as he did the twins.

"Ginny."

Ginny turned to Harry, not able to find her voice.

"Thank you for believing me. You don't know how much it means to me."

She was barely able to get out a "you're welcome."

Harry gave her a strange look before saying, not unkindly, "I really don't get you, Ginny."

...

_Harry was five years old. And he was lonely. He had hoped, with all the hope a child can possess, that going to school would mean meeting people who might not hate him. The chance was slim – his experiences with his family implied so – but he was a hopeful child. After all, hope had been all he had left to live for._

_His hope was crushed on the first day when Dudley punched Sam Suther, a boy who tried to befriend him. Sam stayed away from Harry after that. When the other kids asked him why he was no longer playing with Harry, to avoid having to tell them that he was scared of Dudley, he told them that he found out that Harry wet his pants every night. Harry didn't defend himself when they all laughed at him and called him "Harry Pee Potty," even to his face – defending himself always made things worse with the Dursleys. Instead, he would simply stand there, wishing he could disappear._

_Weeks later found Harry swinging by himself during break. Dudley was sick that day, so he didn't have to worry about his cousin's fists._

_"You're Harry Potter, right?"_

_Harry looked up to see a bushy-haired girl standing beside him. He was so surprised to hear a classmate talk to him that he didn't respond, only gaping at her._

_Annoyed, she repeated herself impatiently, "You're Harry Potter, right?"_

_Snapping out of his shock, he said timidly, "Yes, I am." Hope for friendship and fear of ruining that chance flared up within his chest, making it hard for him to breathe._

_"Do you really wet yourself every night?" the girl demanded._

_Harry deflated. Of course she wasn't there to be friends with him. He shook his head dejectedly, tears blurring his vision._

_"Oh, don't cry!" the girl said, surprise and concern lacing her voice. "Why are you sad?"_

_Sniffling, Harry said quietly, "You won't believe me."_

_Crossing her arms, she said, "I do. You don't look like a liar. I also asked my parents about it after school yesterday, and they said that rumors are often either exaggerated or flat out untrue."_

_Harry blinked. "Oh…" Swallowing nervously, he asked, "Do you want to be my friend?"_

_She smiled and, to his relief and joy, nodded. "Okay."_

_"Can I show you something?" Harry asked, shy._

_She scowled. "It's not your 'thing,' right?"_

_Confused and scared that he had somehow offended her, Harry could only stammer out, "What do you mean?"_

_Still glaring suspiciously, she waved him to continue. "Just show me. But if it's your 'thing,' our friendship is over."_

_Anxious, Harry played with the hem of his oversized shirt. Did she mean his freakishness? What was he to do? He was about to show her something that his uncle would definitely attribute to his freakishness. But he had thought that she would like it – she was a girl after all – and that maybe, just maybe, she would excuse his freakish nature._

_"Well?" she demanded, tapping her foot impatiently._

_Seeing that she was giving him no choice, he stooped down and picked up a dandelion, its seeds forming a fuzzy sphere. "Please don't hate me," he whispered, avoiding her eyes. And with that, he blew._

_The girl gasped. As his breath carried the seeds into the air, the seeds hatched into flower heads, falling to the ground at her feet, landing on her shoulders and hair…_

_Harry stood there, waiting for her judgment, her hatred._

_"Harry, that's beautiful," she breathed._

_Harry looked up in surprise. "You mean you won't stop being friends with me?" he asked._

_"You're being stupid. I thought you were going to show me your private parts!" she said, laughing. "But how so ever did you do that?"_

_Harry didn't understand why she thought that about him, but he was glad that they could remain friends._

...

Harry put away his time-turner. Dumbledore had suggested he meet up with Flamel before the holidays were over to get a sense of what apprenticeship under him would entail. Stepping into the fireplace, he threw the Floo powder onto the floor as he cried out, "Flamel Chateau!" After the green flames died down, he found himself in the presence of a very elderly wizard and his wife.

Nicolas Flamel looked more like a stereotypical medieval philosopher than a wizard. A large cloth cap lay loosely on his head, and he wore a thick red robe over a green tunic and white pantyhose. White hair reached his shoulders, and his full beard reached just below his neck. Neat white eyebrows seemed perpetually furrowed, giving him a rather severe appearance at first glance. However, his kind eyes offset the severity, giving him the overall appearance of a sharp and observant man.

Perenelle Flamel also looked quite different from the stereotypical witch, appearing more like French Revolution aristocracy. Her white hair was tied up in a tight bun, and she was wearing a green dress that would fit in seamlessly with that time period. Harry thought that she must have been very pretty when she was younger – her facial features were delicate and feminine, but her eyes showed a wilder story. This was a woman who could be both a gentle mother and a terrifying duelist.

"Albus certainly is giving me a handful with you, Mr. Potter," Nicolas said, his eyes piercing.

Harry started. "Sir?"

Nicolas considered him for a few seconds before saying simply, "You're haunted by something, Mr. Potter. And that won't do."

Swallowing nervously, Harry was starting to regret agreeing to this apprenticeship…

"Are you planning to run away from your troubles? Rather than face them and fix them? And, no, I am not reading your mind. Your expressions, your body language…they tell me everything I need to know." Nicolas leaned his head against his hand. "One does not become a good alchemist by reading people's minds. Very often, other people won't have the answers one is looking for. Instead, one becomes a good alchemist by observation."

Harry shifted uncomfortably, wondering if it was too late to change his mind…

Nicolas closed his eyes. "If it makes you that uncomfortable, Mr. Potter, I will stop observing you."

Harry could barely get a squeak out, "That would be most appreciated, Sir."

There was a silence before Nicolas said softly, "Please sit down. Perenelle, my dear, could you please leave us? I know you've been waiting quite anxiously to see our guest, but I think Mr. Potter here would appreciate having as few people as possible hear the following conversation."

Perenelle smiled serenely. "Of course, Nicolas." And with that, she left the room, as graceful as a swan swimming away.

Nicolas returned his attention to Harry. Then he said, his words coming out slow and deliberate, "Mr. Potter, you must forgive me for having been so straightforward. I was simply surprised to see the type of student Albus had chosen for me and had forgotten my manners."

Harry wasn't sure whether that was a compliment or a complaint.

"Despite what impression my comments may have given off, I do not think having you as my student will be a trouble for me. In fact, I would say Albus has given me gold of the most valuable grade." Nicolas folded his hands on his lap, his eyes remaining closed. "Gold purified in fire is of highest value."

_"Now, Dudley, how do you want to punish him?"_

Harry swallowed. Now he definitely didn't want to be here. He stood up. "I'm sorry, Sir…I think Professor Dumbledore may have made a mistake with me…"

"Please, Mr. Potter, at least give this old man a chance to explain before leaving."

Harry reluctantly sat down.

"I am not saying that I am happy you went through what you did to give you such haunted eyes. What I am simply saying is that, having gone through such trials and coming out as you do, you are as purified gold. There are those who come out not so well – after all, simply putting gold in fire is not enough to purify it. There is a whole purification process."

_"Lean over the table, Potter…!"_

_"Daddy, his butt just jiggled…!"_

_"Hit it harder, and it'll jiggle more, Dudley. If you can make him scream, you can get an extra pint of ice cream tonight..."_

Harry lowered his head and was thankful that Nicolas kept his eyes closed. He certainly didn't feel like gold.

"With that being said, however, if, after the gold is purified, it is kept in the fire, it is worthless because it's no use to anyone. No one wants melted gold, or even soft gold. The gold becomes valuable when, once purified, it is taken out of the fire and alloyed with other metals to strengthen it. Then it becomes timeless and elegant."

"Sir," Harry began. "I know what you're trying to say, but I'm just not ready…"

"Are you saying, Mr. Potter, that you would prefer to keep yourself in the fire?" When Harry didn't, couldn't, answer, Nicolas smiled. "The gold does not take itself out of the fire. The refiner does that. It is okay to let yourself be helped, to lend yourself over to someone else, and to trust their decisions for you. That is the true relationship between an apprentice and his master."

Harry was wary. Was the man asking Harry to put his complete trust in him? "Not to offend you, Sir, but I barely know you."

Nicolas didn't look perturbed. "I never said anything about you knowing me, did I? Throughout an apprenticeship as personal as this one, the student always has a choice. He can leave at any time. He can disobey at any time. He is not bound by law, magic, or physics. Each choice he makes is of his own free will. However, there will always be times when the master asks of the student something he doesn't want to do. In that case, the student is also free to say no.

"However, each time he feels that, he should remind himself that, from the master's perspective, there is nothing more valuable to him, not his house, not his treasures, not even his own life, than the student himself, his living legacy. When a master dies, his blood lives through his children if he has any, but his spirit lives through his student. With that in mind, is it so hard to believe that the master would handle his charge with the utmost care? Would his heart not beat for his student? Would he not feel for him when he struggles?

"Trust is an interesting thing it is when it comes to this type of relationship. In a normal relationship, one's trust in someone is developed after that person has proven himself. However, if you are to become my apprentice and gain anything from it, you must start by trusting me as your teacher first."

A long silence followed, and it was clear that Nicolas was finished with what he had to say. "Sir," Harry began tentatively, "would I be able to question you?"

"Of course – I'm not perfect after all. And those two are not mutually exclusive either – questioning your teacher and trusting him. In fact, I would say that the questioning makes the difference between stupidity and trust."

"Then why is it so important to my training that I face my problems and fix them? I've been able to learn just fine without doing that so far." It was a half-lie – ever since the incident at Madam Malkin's, Harry had not been able to learn as well as before, becoming increasingly plagued by memories – but he was searching desperately for an excuse. It was cowardly, he knew, but he would do anything not to have to face those memories again. Dreams and random flashbacks were bad, but he wasn't sure he could handle any more than that.

"As I've said, Mr. Potter, to be a good alchemist, one must be able to observe. To be able to observe, and to observe well, you must have a clear mind. In addition, I will not allow notes to be taken. It is too risky to leave physical notes of the knowledge I would like to pass down to you. Instead, you would be keeping, and defending, what you learn within your mind. As you can imagine, learning this way will be quite difficult if your mind is bogged down by your past."

"May I have some time before making my decision, Sir?"

"Of course."


	14. The Breaking Point

_"Harry, that is one hell of a dragon you have," Charlie said as Harry leaned his head against Ferdinand's jaw. "I don't know how you managed to get him here so fast or where you're keeping him, but I figure that's your business."_

_Harry rubbed the side of his dragon's jaw, causing Ferdinand to let out a rumbling purr. "Thank you, Charlie."_

_"Say, though, I was thinking – would you be okay with sending Ferdinand to Romania?"_

_Harry jerked up. "What?" He must have heard Charlie wrong. Send Ferdinand to Romania?_

_Charlie rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Hear me out, please? We've never had a full-grown dragon that would allow us to get so close to it. Mostly, research is conducted by observing their behavior while in their natural habitat, dissecting their body after their death, or raising them in the first few months of their life – by the time they're adolescents, they're too big and aggressive to safely approach. The only way I've ever been able to get so close to a dragon is if it has been stunned. In fact, this is the first dragon I've seen that has been trained."_

_Harry had released Ferdinand as an adolescent. However, Harry didn't remember him being so aggressive that he would deem it unsafe to approach him. His ancestors made plenty of notes reminding that adolescent Opaleyes often didn't know their own strength, so Harry had taken plenty of precaution by taking his dragon into the field and finding him playmates, even as a baby. Ferdinand learned quite early on that his teeth, claws, and flames were dangerous. His genetics probably helped too._

_"I thought you said that Opaleyes are the most trainable out of all the dragons?"_

_"That was a guess based on their relatively low aggression. However, dragons in general are pretty much untrainable. If I am to approach another Opaleye right now, it would probably warn me to back off with a roar or something – another dragon would have just tried to burn me to a crisp. But if I don't back off, it would probably fly away or attack even."_

_Harry looked at Ferdinand. He had released him, but since Ferdinand was in the valleys of Hazel Island, Harry was able to visit him whenever he wanted to. For Ferdinand to be in Romania…_

_"Please, Harry, he would be such an asset to understanding dragons!" Charlie pleaded._

_Harry sighed before asking Ferdinand softly, "What do you think?"_

_Ferdinand stared at him, not comprehending the question but clearly recognizing the sadness in Harry's voice._

_Harry turned to Charlie. "Under two conditions."_

_Charlie's eyes lit up. "Name them."_

_"One, I can visit him at any time."_

_Charlie nodded vigorously. "Of course, Harry! He's still yours, even in Romania!"_

_"Two, if he's unhappy there, please tell me and let him return to me. I'll give it a year. If he doesn't adjust by then…"_

_"Understood. That's reasonable."_

_Harry hugged Ferdinand's snout and said to him, "You'll be going with Charlie tomorrow, alright?" He backed away a bit, keeping his hand on Ferdinand's nose before taking Charlie's hand and replacing his own hand with Charlie's._

_Ferdinand's eyes widened ever so slightly before he shook off Charlie's hand and snarled at him._

_"Ferdinand, stop." Harry's heart ached when his wonderful, beautiful dragon stopped immediately but looked at him with betrayed eyes. It still amazed him sometimes how obedient his dragon was. "That was a bad way of communication." He looked around before asking, "Can you conjure up a chain, Charlie?" Taking the offered chain, he held up the flute in his hand. "Can you meld these two together for me please? And then place an Unbreakable Charm on it?" Taking the result, he placed it around Ferdinand's neck. "I am not giving you away," he said firmly. "You are still my dragon, and I am still your human. You're just…going on an adventure, alright?"_

...

_Harry had never been so happy in his short life. He had a friend – a girl by the name of Hermione Granger. And he learned that she was very talkative, which he did not mind in the slightest. He would listen and observe her expressions and body language. He wanted to know everything there was to know about this wonderful girl who gave him a chance._

_"…I've always wanted a sibling," she was saying. "Sometimes it's fun being an only child. But sometimes it can be lonely…"_

_"What's this? Potter's got a girlfriend!"_

_A chill ran down Harry's spine. No, no, not his cousin. Dudley had recovered from his illness._

_Hermione turned towards the voice. "Harry, isn't that your cousin? Dudley?"_

_Harry was too terrified to answer. It was too late to run, and he couldn't just leave Hermione there._

_Dudley marched up to them and grabbed Harry by his collar. "Why are you hanging out with this loser anyway? Don't you remember he pees himself every night?"_

_Hermione placed her hands on her hips and said imperiously, "That's just a rumor."_

_Dudley glanced at Harry, and Harry paled at the evil glint in his eyes. "It's not. Show her, Potter. Show her the truth."_

_Harry knew what Dudley wanted him to do. But there was no way he was going to wet himself purposely in front of Hermione, his first and only friend. Scared, he shook his head._

_Dudley narrowed his eyes. "Do it, Potter, or I'll tell Dad."_

_Harry still shook his head, even as he trembled in fear._

_His cousin stomped his foot angrily before raising his fist to beat him._

_"Let him go, you monster!"_

_Harry's heart pounded loudly hearing Hermione's scream. Surprisingly, he felt Dudley letting go of his shirt. To his horror, however, Dudley had his attention now on Hermione, having grabbed her by the arm._

_"Let go of me, or I'll tell Ms. Ruddock!"_

_Anger coursing through his veins, Harry lunged at Dudley and punched him in the face._

_Dudley immediately let go of Hermione to stare at Harry in shock. "I'm telling Dad!" he said before running off._

_His anger left quite quickly, and Harry was left with only terror at his actions._

_That evening, Harry was beaten so badly that he couldn't go to school for three days. When he came back, to his shock, he learned that Hermione was no longer attending the same school. Their brief friendship, lasting only a few days, had ended before it could bloom, and Harry wondered if he were the one at fault. As time went on, and with bigger worries on his mind, Harry soon forgot her name, and those few days blurred away until they were murkier than a dream._

…

Harry left the Apothecary with several bags of potion ingredients in his arms. It was getting dark – he had left Madam Malkin's earlier than usual that day to catch the Apothecary just before it closed. The streets were quiet as he walked towards the usual fireplace that would take him home.

" _Incarcerous._ "

Before he could react, rope bound and gagged him, his potion ingredients falling from his arms to the ground.

"Well, well, well, Mr. Potter. What a lovely night for us to meet again."

Harry's blood ran cold upon hearing Lucius Malfoy's voice at his ear. Suddenly, Diagon Alley disappeared to be replaced by what looked to be an office.

"Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Mr. Potter."

…

Draco twisted and turned in his bed until he finally got up and sat down at his desk. He had put it off for too long. Harry should know, no matter how much Draco hated saying it.

Staring at the parchment in front of him, he muttered, "How do I even begin? 'Dear Harry, my father wants to hurt you'? 'Dear Harry, my father wants  _me_  to hurt you'?"

No, Harry would think his father was a lunatic, and Draco didn't want anyone to think badly of his father – he was still his father after all, and Draco was still his loyal son.

But Harry was already hurt by his father. Harry probably already thought his father was crazy. Telling him about the conversation he had with his father couldn't possibly do more damage than that.

But it could make it worse. It was adding fuel to the fire.

Draco gripped at his hair. "This sucks," he said to himself softly. He loved his father, but he also loved his best friend. Why couldn't they just get along? Why couldn't his father see that Harry was a really good person?

But he needed to tell Harry. Harry needed to know how critical it was that his father not find out about their friendship.

_Harry, are you awake? I have something I need to tell you._

…

"What a pity the night ended so quickly," Lucius said, as though he were talking about the weather. "I think here is a good place for you, Mr. Potter. It is where you belong after all. With the trash." And with that, he flicked his wand, and Harry flew forward a few feet, his limp body landing in the dirty snow. The alleyway behind the shops in Diagon Alley was always filthy, and today was no different. Lucius smirked before leaving Harry a parting humiliation – he vanished his clothes. "I suggest you run quickly or else people might see you." And with that, he apparated.

Unfeeling tears trickled down Harry's face, which was half-buried in the snow. His body was just a mess of pain and cold. And he was so thirsty.

_"Drink."_

_Harry unhesitatingly, fearfully, lifted the cup to his lips._

_"All of it. I don't want you wasting any of it."_

_The cup was emptied, and the potion soon took effect. Harry dropped to his hands and knees as thirst took over him. He desperately needed water. "Please, Sir," he begged. "Water…"_

_"I had thought about letting Draco have some fun with you, but this is a treat for me, and so long as he doesn't know you are here, he won't know what he's missing," Lucius said as he chuckled at Harry's rasping pleas for water. "Water? Of course, Mr. Potter, you are a guest after all…" He poured out some water onto the floor and watched with satisfaction as Harry lapped up the water from the floor._

_However, rather than quenching his thirst, the water only made his thirst worse…_

_"Did you enjoy your drink, Mr. Potter? I guess I should have told you that the thirst induced by the potion would only get worse with the more water you drink. You can only wait for the effects to wear off."_

Harry closed his eyes. Maybe dying here from hypothermia wouldn't be so bad. Then finally, his pain and misery would end. He didn't really know why so many people like seeing him like this, but he was so tired…

_…Riley leaped at Vernon's arm, his jaws clamping onto the large man's arm, his momentum pushing the gun to the side..._

_…Vernon fired off several more shots…_

_…red, red, red, and more red spilling across Aunt Petunia's once-clean floor…_

Tears flowed freely down Harry's face. His life was not his own. Blood was spilt for him. Lives were sacrificed in exchange for his. He didn't want to live, but he couldn't just die either, not like that – he might as well just have thrown those sacrifices in his parents' and Riley's faces. But he was so tired. He didn't want to make decisions anymore.

_"While magical methods are far more painful than a switch or cane, a switch or cane I must say is a lot more satisfying for me," Lucius whispered in his ear as Harry was bent over a table. The man delicately pulled on a pair of gloves before brushing his fingers over the red stripes left behind by the switch._

_Harry's breath hitched as he feared the next bout of torment from this man._

_"Perhaps this is a bit too easy for you, Mr. Potter. I'm sure you've already experienced a simple lashing before. Let's play a game, shall we? Let's see how long you can remain standing. I'm sure you know the rules. Fall and I guarantee you that I can make this much, much worse."_

_Harry's knees buckled as Lucius suddenly lashed at the back of his knees. Gasping and gripping the table tightly, he struggled to remain standing._

_"Power tastes quite sweet, Mr. Potter. It is a pity that you will never be able to taste it. You can have all the wealth in the world, but if you don't have power, it's quite meaningless. Isn't it?" Another lash. "Isn't it?"_

_As another lash hit the back of his legs, despite his best efforts, Harry collapsed onto one knee._

_Lucius chuckled, amused. "Let me help you with that other leg…" Three lashes in quick succession, and Harry fell to the ground._

Harry felt like screaming. His head wanted to split apart.  _STOP!_ he cried mentally at his memories…

_Harry was barely eight years old, weeding in the garden._

_Suddenly the door to the garden slammed open, Vernon coming out with an angry look on his face._

_Harry stopped what he was doing, shaking uncontrollably. Did something happen at work to put his uncle in such a bad mood?_

_Vernon stormed over to him and grabbed him by the back of his shirt, pulling him inside the garden shed. "Who does that bastard think he is?" the beefy man muttered to himself. Once they were inside the shed, he shut the door and yanked Harry's shirt and shorts off him._

_To Harry's shock, his uncle also tore off his underwear. Harry had never felt greater fear than in that moment._

_Breathing heavily like a beast, Vernon growled as he forced Harry onto his chest and knees, "Now, boy, as I show you your place, you will scream that you are sorry you argued with me in the office today and beg for my forgiveness. And make it sound convincing!"_

_Harry was confused. Argue with his uncle? At the office? What was going on?_

_"UNDERSTAND, BOY?"_

_"Y-yes, Sir," Harry stammered, although he was far from understanding what was going on. He heard his uncle unzipping something, and soon after, he felt a deep pain behind him and within him, tearing into not only his body but also his heart and soul..._

"Stop, stop, stop," Harry whimpered.

A soft voice echoed within his mind, through his memories, " _It is okay to let yourself be helped, to lend yourself over to someone else, and to trust their decisions for you."_

It was such a comforting proposal that it calmed his mind ever so slightly. He was in desperate need of help, and someone, albeit an almost stranger, had promised him help. "Aurora," he choked out, his voice barely audible from thirst and strain.

His phoenix appeared next to him within a few seconds. She regarded him with sad eyes, as though she understood that what was happening to him was beyond her power to help.

"Don't look at me with those eyes, Aurora," he said softly. "Please…take me to Flamel Chateau."

…

"Did Albus send you back the Stone, Nicolas?" Perenelle asked, her skillful fingers unceasing in their needlework.

"Yes, he did. He has a copy of it under guard right now. He believes that the one searching for the Stone won't realize the difference until it's too late, even if they do manage to get the stone out of the mirror..." At that moment, he was interrupted by a burst of flames right in front of him, which dissipated to reveal Harry Potter, mostly naked on his knees, clearly too weak to stand.

Nicolas and Perenelle could only gape at the sight.

Harry lifted his head until he met Nicolas's eyes. "Please, Sir…take me as your student. Everything hurts…I'm so thirsty…"

Moved with pity, even in his shock and confusion, Nicolas pulled off his outer robe and wrapped it around the shivering boy, kneeling down next to him. "He's burning up," he said, and Perenelle immediately rushed to their potions cabinet to pull out a few bottles. "My boy, what's happened to you?" he asked gently.

His face streaked with tears, Harry grabbed one of Nicolas's hands. "Please, Sir…take me as your student…"

"Let's discuss that when you're in a more proper frame of mind," Nicolas said, his voice calm despite his mind racing to form conclusions based on what he was seeing and hearing. As Perenelle handed him the bottles, he laid a hand comfortingly on Harry's head and pulled his other hand from Harry's grip to take one of the bottles to the boy's lips. "Drink, Harry."

The same command Lucius gave him. However, the same command from Nicolas introduced a warmth into Harry's frozen mind. And he obeyed, not quite out of fear. When he was finished, a sense of calm spread throughout his mind.

Nicolas took a second bottle and lifted it to Harry's mouth once again. "Drink."

Harry was more than willing this time. And when he finished, his body stopped shaking, and he was feeling warm but drowsy. "Sir," he said softly, trustingly. "Nightmares."

Nicolas took the third and last bottle and said to him, "Drink and rest, Harry. You don't need to be afraid anymore."

And Harry drank, and after he was finished, he fell against Nicolas's chest, asleep in his arms.

…

Harry opened his eyes blearily. His first thought was that it had been a long time since he had slept and not woken up from a nightmare. His second thought was that he was not in his own bed.

"Here, Harry."

Harry felt someone place his glasses on for him. He blinked.

"Good morning, Harry," Nicolas said as he folded his hands once again on his lap. "You must have been very tired indeed. You slept all of yesterday and last night."

Seeing Nicolas, Harry remembered…

_"…Let's play a game, shall we? Let's see how long you can remain standing…"_

_"Please, Sir…Water…"_

Harry gripped his head, tears falling once again. "Stop," he whimpered.

"Harry."

Harry looked up, his eyes desperate for help.

"What is it that you want?" Nicolas asked calmly.

Harry blinked. What did he want? It was such a simple question. "Water," he croaked.

The older man poured out water into a cup and gave it to Harry.

Harry eyed it warily. "Sir, if I drink, I grow thirstier," he rasped out, too weak to explain fully. Oh, how he wanted to drink…

Nicolas wasn't perturbed. "Drink, child. You will not grow thirstier. Not this time."

Harry stared at him. Did Nicolas know what happened? How could he? However, the man gave no clue to either of those questions – he simply watched him like an observer. Harry felt the familiar urge to run. He didn't want the other to know his humiliations, his sufferings...

But as his thirst grew, so did the memories of Lucius's voice in his head, reminding him of why he ended up at Nicolas's home in the first place. Before he could lose his nerve, he drank. And what a wonderful feeling it was! The cool liquid poured onto his tongue and down his throat sent him to bliss. He emptied the cup and sheepishly held it out to Nicolas for a refill.

Nicolas smiled and, without a word, poured Harry another cup.

After Harry drank his fill, with a clearer head, he said, "I'm sorry, Sir."

"What for, Harry?"

"For making you take care of me," he said softly. "I just came to you without warning."

"Did you mean it, Harry, when you asked me to take you as my student?"

Harry paused before nodding. "Yes, Sir, I do."

"Then you should have no shame in coming to me for help," he said. "A student should never hesitate to ask his master for help, no matter what it is. If I believe you should be able to handle it on your own, I will tell you so."

"Sir, I'm not your student yet though," Harry protested weakly.

"Who asked you to be his student first, Harry? I did. The moment you accepted, you became my student, and I became your teacher. Everything else is, for all intents and purposes, simply logistics." Nicolas placed a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I ran some diagnostic spells on you while you were asleep. I found traces of that potion in your system, and I neutralized it with an antidote I put into the water."

Harry stared. "Was that just a test then?" he asked tentatively.

"A test for what, Harry? Or of what?"

"A test to see if I trust you. Otherwise, you would have told me beforehand that the antidote was in the water."

Nicolas looked thoughtful. "I wouldn't call it a test. A test would imply I was trying to boost my ego with that. No, I would call it a demonstration, a demonstration of our responsibilities. You can come to me for help, Harry. And I can teach, guide, and help you. But your decisions will ultimately determine what you gain or lose, whether you fully understand the situation or not. Even if you had decided not to drink, however, I would have told you about the antidote in the end."

It was at his words that Harry realized the state he was in. He was in no physical pain – Lucius had beaten him harshly, so there was no way he was not feeling the effects unless someone else had healed him. Normally he would have asked Aurora to heal him, but he had been in such a hurry in his desperation to get to Nicolas that she didn't get the chance to. "Did you heal me, too, Sir?"

Nicolas nodded. "Please forgive me taking liberty with you while you were asleep. I saw your wounds and didn't want you to wake up in pain."

Harry lowered his head. "Are you going to ask me how, Sir?"

"I already know how. That's the easier part, at least for me, to figure out. It's the who that I don't know. But neither will I ask. I am aware of the curse placed on you to protect the identity of the person who did this to you. Unfortunately there are curses that even I cannot break in spite of my experience."

Nicolas's calm demeanor soothed him, despite the gravity of the situation, and for once in a long time, he felt that everything was going to be okay. Maybe not yet, but it will be. "What now, Sir?" he asked.

"What is it that you want?" the man repeated.

"I want all these memories to go away," Harry said miserably.

"Do you? Do you actually want to forget what happened to you, Harry?" Nicolas asked, his voice challenging.

Harry flinched but didn't answer.

"Be careful of what you want. If you want the wrong thing and work towards the wrong goal, you could be harming yourself rather than helping."

Harry was silent for a while. Did he actually want to forget? Instinctively, he knew he didn't. The memories were part of him, a large part of him. And while he didn't like how he felt the last few days, he couldn't say that he disliked who he was, who he had become. Then what did he want? "I want to be able to control them, Sir. I want control over myself." The man didn't answer for a while, and Harry wondered if he said the wrong thing.

Then Nicolas slowly smiled. "Very good, Harry."

"But, Sir, how will I be able to do that?"

"Remember the gold and the refiner, Harry," Nicolas said patiently.

Harry bowed his head. "I understand. Please teach your student, Sir, and he will listen."

…

Draco wondered why his father was looking so pleased that day. Did his mother cast Cheering Charms on him? "Father? You look happier than usual today."

Lucius chuckled. "Next time, I will let you experience what I had experienced last night, and then you will understand, Draco. You will not be disappointed."

Draco stared at him. His father sounded like one of the older students in Gryffindor who was describing his experiences with some Muggle drug and trying to convince them all to try it – DSL or SLD or some combination of those three letters if he remembered correctly. He carefully asked, "Father, are you sure you're alright? You're not…addicted to a drug, are you?"

Lucius gave his son a confused look. "What?" He had to spend the next few minutes explaining to Draco that, no, he was not high that night and, no, he was not addicted to some drug and, no, he did not need to go to St. Mungo's.

Of course, Draco didn't know how close to home he was with his questions. His father was addicted to a drug. Just not LSD.


	15. Rebirth

_"Are you afraid, Harry?"_

_Harry looked at the Pensieve in front of him before saying softly, as though resigned to his cowardice, "Yes, Sir, I am."_

_Nicolas placed a hand on his shoulder before leading him away from the Pensieve. "Let's talk first, Harry, before we begin. Tell me – why are you ashamed of being afraid?"_

_Harry blinked in surprise. He kept forgetting that nothing escaped his teacher's notice. "I just…I feel helpless when I'm afraid," he said honestly._

_"Do you think your fear is the problem here then?"_

_"It must be," Harry said slowly, uncertainly. "It was because I was scared that I couldn't help but obey every command."_

_"Have you ever been scared of anything else besides a person?"_

_Harry hesitated before saying sheepishly, "Well, I did come face to face with a troll a few months ago. That was really scary."_

_"A troll?"_

_"Yeah, one got into Hogwarts somehow."_

_Nicolas looked thoughtful. "And what did you do when you faced it?"_

_Harry fingered the edge of his robe sleeves. "I fought it," he said quietly._

_"I think you know where I'm going with this, Harry," his teacher said after a moment's silence. "Why don't you show me the memory of you facing that troll?"_

…

Before Harry knew it, the holidays were over.

As they approached the train, Harry grabbed onto Madam Malkin's hand, taking comfort in her presence as he was likely to see the older Malfoy here and he wasn't sure what would happen then. Things had gotten better after he had accepted Nicolas as his teacher. However, as Nicolas reminded him, a few days were not enough to undo the damage of years of abuse. "Madam Malkin, I'm really sorry."

The woman turned to him in surprise. "Harry, what for?"

"The holidays. I'm sorry for worrying you so much about me – I could tell you were worried but chose not to say anything. I have just been really tired lately. That's all."

Madam Malkin pulled him into a hug. "You're a good child, Harry. Such a good child…"

Harry breathed out a sigh of contentment. He felt so safe in her arms. He didn't think he would ever get too old to be held like that. "I'll see you during Easter."

"Don't forget to write, dear."

"I won't, Madam Malkin." As she let go, Harry reluctantly got onto the Hogwarts Express, waving to her as the train left the station. Sighing, he went into an empty compartment, not having the energy to go search for his friends.

_"The body and the mind are intimately connected, and you have experienced just how powerful this bond is. With a physical trigger, you began experiencing nightmares. With a mental trigger, you were physically helpless. It would be easier to treat one at a time, but since one would drag the other down just as you begin to improve the latter, we must separate the two. Let's start with the easier of the two – your body's instincts…"_

_"I will bind your memories, Harry. They will no longer cause you nightmares nor will they be as vivid as they have been. However, this spell is only temporary. It will slowly loosen up your memories, and they will become more and more vivid with time. That will hopefully give us enough time to get them under control. Take note that this is only the memories present in your mind – I cannot bind your body's instincts. Your body will still remember just as strongly as it always has until you master control over yourself. Moreover, this is not a spell that will remain effective the second cast as the first cast. Therefore, be diligent, my dear boy, and work hard during these few weeks of respite…"_

"Harry?"

Harry looked up to see Draco standing in the doorway, looking awkward and uncertain if he was welcomed. There was a drawn out silence before Harry smiled and nodded to the seat across from him. "Are you going to sit with me, or do we have to do a repeat of September?"

Draco huffed and sat down. After a minute or two of silence, he said, "You look really tired."

Harry nodded. He knew what was on Draco's mind – over break, they had talked about what Lucius wanted Draco to do to Harry. "Just a little."

Draco shifted. "You know I wouldn't hurt you, right?" he asked, trying to hide his anxiety. "If you're worried about that…"

"I'm not worried about you hurting me, Draco," Harry said. He really wasn't. Draco had changed dramatically since their first meeting when the blond boy reminded Harry of Dudley.

"Good." Draco stared at his hands. He had missed Harry so much over break, but now, after what he had witnessed between his father and Harry in Madam Malkin's shop, he felt awkward around his friend even as he wanted to talk to him...

"So, Draco…"

Draco looked up to see Harry smirking knowingly at him.

"Did you miss me?"

Draco blinked, not registering Harry's words for a few seconds before he flushed. He didn't think he wrote to Harry that often over break… "Don't act as though you didn't miss me just as much," he said defensively.

Harry chuckled before saying, "I wasn't about to. I very much missed spending time with you over break. I cried into my pillow every night wishing you were there."

Draco kicked Harry in the shin as the other laughed. "Shut up, Harry! I didn't miss you that much!" However, he couldn't stop himself from grinning. Yes, this was what he missed. The warmth, the laughter, the banter… "Harry, what's that?" He pointed to the necklace around Harry's neck.

Harry fingered the amulet. "To be honest, I'm not sure. It was given to me, and I'm supposed to keep it on me at all times." Nicolas didn't give him any details, simply telling him that the amulet – which consisted only of a red gem embedded in silver on a plain metal chain – was a symbol of their student-teacher bond.

"Can I see it?"

Harry pulled off the necklace and handed it over to Draco, who turned the amulet over curiously.

"What does it say on the back?"

"I don't know." Nicolas had told him that he will be able to read the back when he was ready. Although ready for what, Harry didn't know.

Draco raised at eyebrow at him before handing back the necklace.

Harry could tell Draco wanted to ask him about who gave it to him. But if there was one thing his friend was good at, it was being respectful of privacy boundaries where he perceived them, refusing to pry no matter his curiosity. And even though he did rant a lot, Draco was quite a safe person to share secrets with. Taking back the necklace, he said, "Draco, I have something to tell you. The person who gave me this necklace…his name is Nicolas Flamel, and he's my mentor."

…

_As Nicolas pulled himself from the Pensieve, he said quietly, "I do not think you are a coward. Nor do I think you are a fool. A fool doesn't know fear, and a coward doesn't know how to act in the face of fear. I had suspected that your fear was not the root of your problems, and this memory proved my suspicion correct. Do you know why I say that, Harry?"_

_"Because if fear was the real problem for me, I wouldn't have fought against the troll."_

_"Right you are. I think that especially for a first year student, you have supreme control in the face of fear – you were able to think about how to defeat such a creature even in such a situation. You could have run after rescuing your friend, but you didn't. You knew how you could defeat it, and you faced your fear without backing down."_

_Harry frowned. "But then…what is my problem? Why can't I do anything? I just obeyed helplessly." He looked down shamefully. "Like some trained animal."_

_Nicolas walked over to his bookshelf and pulled out a small notebook. "While fear may play a role in all this, I don't think fear is the root cause of your current problems. I think a different state may be to you as fear is for other people." He paused before handing Harry the notebook. "Have you ever heard of classical conditioning, Harry?"_

_Harry shook his head slowly._

_"It's only a theory of mine. I believe, Harry, that the reason you reacted so is due to your conditioning when you were younger." Nicolas stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You told me that when you were young, you were abused quite heavily. Your body and mind likely were conditioned to react in a certain way when you see your uncle." He paused. "Or when you perceive someone who reminds you of your uncle. In that case, not only physically does your body shut down but your mind as well. Your mind is conditioned to submit, and your body follows suit. All of it is subconscious of course."_

_Harry frowned. "Then how could I control it, Sir?"_

_Nicolas leaned his head against his hand as he often did when he was thinking. "In general, with time, classical conditioning weakens. However, and this is the danger, the footprint of the conditioning will never really disappear. If something happens to trigger the connection once again, the conditioning can come back faster and stronger than the first time around."_

_Harry's shoulders slumped. "So there's no hope then?" he asked quietly._

_"I never said that," his teacher said lightly. "I was simply giving you context as to why we are going to have to fix your conditioning a certain way. By instinct, you understand that you will have to face your memories in order to overcome them. However, you probably don't know why that is or how to go about it._

_"It is not enough for you to simply watch your memories unfold before you. That will likely traumatize you, and you'd be worse off than before. No, it is imperative that when you watch your memories, they produce the correct response within you. Do you understand why?"_

_Harry widened his eyes in understanding. "So that I would be re-conditioned to respond correctly."_

_"Yes."_

_"But how am I going to do that, Sir? These memories don't currently make me react very well…"_

_"Tell me, my dear boy – how much do you value your friends?"_

_Harry blinked. Whatever he had been expecting Nicolas to say, it wasn't that. "I value them very much, Sir." He paused before saying emphatically, "Their safety and happiness mean everything to me."_

_"And what would you do if your uncle does the same thing to them as he did to you? Take a minute, and picture him doing so in your mind." It didn't take long. Nicolas's lips moved into a knowing smile as he saw Harry's eyes lit up like emeralds in fire. Just as he suspected, Harry's true strength came out in his will to protect those he loved – and such determination could provide the emotional shock to break him out of his conditioning._

_"He would not get that far," Harry said. There was neither hesitation nor uncontrolled emotion in his voice – he was stating fact, hinting of the power and danger that hid beneath the surface of a very young, very troubled boy._

_…_

Draco stared at Harry. "You're serious. You really are learning under the greatest alchemist who's ever lived!" He was partly jealous of his friend and partly happy for the other's good fortune.

Harry nodded. "Don't tell anyone though. I don't want people coming to me and asking me how to create the Philosopher's Stone. I don't know how to, at least not yet, and even if I do, I don't really want to tell just anyone how to make one."

Draco rolled his eyes before saying, "You're going to have the key to unlimited riches and immortality, yet you sound so nonchalant about it."

"I have more money than I will ever need…"  _Maybe dying here from hypothermia wouldn't be so bad. Then finally, his pain and misery would end…_ "…and I don't particularly want to live forever. Learning alchemy under Nicolas is wealth enough for me."

"There you are!"

Draco glare at Ron entering the compartment with Hermione behind him. "Yes, we are here. Now that you know, you can leave," he said, crossing his arms.

Ron promptly ignored him and plopped himself down next to Harry. "So what did we miss?"

Hermione sat down next to Draco, who was clearly biting back his displeasure at the new company. "I heard you said something about alchemy?"

Harry nodded. "It's an interesting subject."

"Harry, you find History of Magic interesting," Ron said. "I don't think you're a trustworthy source on what's interesting."

"Do you even know what alchemy is, Weasley?" Draco drawled. "Clearly not. Its goal is to create the Philosopher's Stone – the key to unlimited wealth and immortality. If you don't find that interesting…"

"Really? How does one go about making this Stone?" Ron asked eagerly. "I've always wanted to live in a manor."

"Don't get your hopes up, Ron," Hermione piped up. "There's only one known maker of the Philosopher's Stone, and I doubt he's going to tell you even if you ask nicely."

"And who would that be?"

"Nicolas Flamel. I read all about him when I was doing a bit of light reading…"

"Never heard of him. Why isn't that guy famous or something?"

"You never hearing of him and his celebrity status have nothing to do with each other…"

Harry lost himself in his own thoughts as they talked about his teacher. For such a long time, he had been in want of friends. And now that he finally had them, it felt more amazing than he could ever imagine. And after training under Nicolas for even those few days, he came to cherish every little detail about them, their facial expressions, their tone of voice…and in doing so, he found himself being able to read their wants and needs better than before.

That night, when Draco made an effort to stay up with him even though classes hadn't begun yet, Harry asked him if he would like to work on a project together. Draco practically beamed at the invitation.

A week later, he found Hermione looking a little pale from the flying practical most of the first years had, and he offered to help her with gaining confidence on a broom. She almost knocked him over in her hug.

A few days later, when he saw Ron asking around if anyone would like to play wizards' chess and everyone appeared to be busy, he volunteered, although he had never played chess before (or really any such "games" for that matter). Playing against him, Ron had a look of intense focus that Harry had never seen on the other boy's face before.

…

_"Very good, Harry."_

_Harry dropped his memory into the Pensieve. Thanks to Nicolas binding his memories, he was able to pull this memory out relatively painlessly._

_"Now, my boy, if you could give me your permission to view this memory, I need to modify it."_

_Harry turned to him in surprise. "You're asking for my permission, Sir?"_

_Nicolas chuckled. "Harry, you have much to learn. Yes, I am asking for your permission."_

_Touched by the man's sensitivity and amazed by his humility, his mentor who was much older, wiser, and more powerful than he was, Harry nodded despite his hesitation at letting Nicolas see his suffering._

_Nicolas placed the tip of his wand onto the surface of the shimmering liquid and closed his eyes. A few minutes later, he opened his eyes and said, "Thank you, Harry." He turned to his young student. "You may not feel like a particularly brave or strong person, but only such a person can show another that memory."_

_Harry didn't know how to respond to that. So instead, he asked, "What did you modify, Sir?"_

_"You'll see, Harry. When you're ready, go on in."_

_Swallowing in anticipation, Harry leaned in. The silvery swirls cleared away to reveal a very familiar scene – the Dursleys' dining room. Just the sight of the scene made him tremble in terror, his heart pounding loudly within his chest. The door to the outside slammed open, causing him to spin around. He froze, but not from fear. The sight in front of him burned its mark into his memory._

_His uncle was pulling inside a child by the hair, but the child wasn't Harry. The much larger man had a fistful of bushy hair and slammed the small girl into the wall as soon as the door was closed behind him._

_Hermione's eyes screwed shut in pain, but not a sound escaped her. Her silence made the scene even more horrifying._

_"Freaky bitch!" Vernon raised his fist to beat her._

_Everything was happening in slow motion from Harry's perspective. A sudden calm took over him as his brain went into overdrive. Acting on instinct even as his mind planned several moves ahead, like a martial artist planning the defeat of his opponent even as he was fighting him, Harry whipped out his wand. "FLIPENDO!" he cried, pointing his wand at his uncle. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor of Nicolas's study once again._

_"A second longer and you would have sent my Pensieve flying, Harry," Nicolas said lightly, his wand loose within his hand._

_Harry blinked to get his bearings before muttering, "Sorry, Sir."_

_Nicolas's eyes were bright. "I think this course of action will be quite successful, don't you?"_

…

_"We have been working with the Pensieve for quite a while now, Harry. I think you're ready for the next step."_

_Harry tilted his head curiously. "Next step, Sir?"_

_Nicolas nodded. "Facing memories is one thing. However, the biggest danger to you now is not the memories of your uncle. It is anyone who has ill intent towards you in the same manner as your uncle. I believe that your body and mind are so sensitive to this over the years of abuse that you are able to tell instinctively when someone has such intent towards you. That's why you froze up even before they harmed you. So we need to train your body to react correctly to anyone with such intent – and not just when they're about to harm your friends. In other words, working with the Pensieve has sown the seeds. Now, we must nurture those seeds to full-bloom."_

_Harry stared at this man who was his mentor. In that moment, he had never been in more awe of someone._

_Nicolas raised an eyebrow at him when he didn't respond for a long time._

_Harry smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Sir. I just realized how brilliant you are."_

_Nicolas let out a laugh before placing a hand on Harry's head. "You are too easy to amaze, Harry."_

_And Harry's heart warmed. It was hard for him now to understand why he had been so reluctant to trust his mentor before. It was so obvious to him now how much the man cared for him, and it was because of this that Harry resolved to keep his counsel and teachings in not only his mind but also his heart._

_"Returning to the task at hand, I have the idea of using a boggart. But in order for this to work, you must acknowledge to yourself – are you afraid of your uncle exactly? Or are you afraid of what your uncle represents? Maybe to a degree they are the same question, but in terms of scope, they are different."_

_Harry thought before he answered. Physically, Lucius and Vernon looked nothing like each other, and as far as he could tell, they were quite different in many other aspects as well. Lucius held magic supreme while Vernon detested it. Lucius was refined and controlled whereas Vernon was violent and explosive. But those things didn't matter – their eyes showed the same thing – the desire to hurt him and to see him suffer. "The latter, Sir."_

_"Very good. In that case, the boggart won't necessarily shapeshift into your uncle, which was what I was hoping for." Nicolas walked around to a wardrobe. "Inside here is the boggart. However, before you face it, I need you to remember this, Harry – those who desire to see you suffer would not hesitate to inflict suffering on others if the opportunity presents itself. Especially as vulnerable as you are."_

_Harry knew Nicolas better than to assume the last statement was an insult. "What do you mean, Sir?"_

_"Your vulnerability reveals not the weaknesses within you but the darkness within others, for only the worst people can torture such a defenseless child at their mercy. And if they have it within themselves to do that, Harry, do you think they would hesitate to torment anyone who is unfortunate enough to find themselves at their mercy?"_

_Harry shook his head slowly._

_"Ready?"_

_At Harry's nod, the wardrobe doors flung open. A thickset man with a moustache and beard stepped out and looked around before his gaze settled on Harry. His lips curled into a cruel smirk._

_Harry froze, feeling small once again._

_"What do we have here?" the man said tauntingly. "You know where you belong, don't you, Mr. Potter? On your knees, boy."_

_All reason fled Harry's mind, and without hesitation, he got down to his knees, his head lowered submissively. His shoulders shook, and he could barely breathe in his fear._

_Suddenly the man flew back into the wardrobe, and the door shut behind him. The wardrobe shook angrily._

_Harry blinked. Turning to Nicolas, he saw the man frown. Once again, he felt the urge to flee – the humiliation of his teacher seeing him like this made him wish he could melt away into the floor. But he stayed where he was because another emotion trumped his humiliation – his desire to not disappoint his teacher._

_Nicolas came over to him and offered him a hand._

_Harry allowed him to help him to his feet._

_"Harry."_

_"Yes, Sir?"_

_"Do you think you've learned anything from the Pensieve exercise?"_

_Harry started. That was not a question he was expecting Nicolas to ask. He didn't know how to answer it. Did he learn something? Was he supposed to have learned something? He had thought it was supposed to be a passive exercise where he would be re-conditioned subconsciously, but was he supposed to have actively drawn a conclusion from it? Nicolas did always love demonstrations to make strong points…_

_Nicolas laid a hand on his shoulder. "Take the next few days off, Harry, and think about your experiences with the Pensieve."_

_…_

Harry frowned at the memory. What was he supposed to have learned from that exercise?

Draco rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was already 1am, but he was determined to make further progress on their joint project.

Harry watched his friend curiously, distracted from his reflections on the Pensieve exercises. He knew Draco had been excited about working on this project with him, but it still didn't make sense to him why Draco was trying so hard, going up against his limits every night.

"Maybe we should switch the words around?" Draco said questioningly. " _Libro querare_  makes it sound as though we're searching for a book instead of a particular word inside a book." He looked up at Harry for confirmation.

Harry hummed softly to himself before saying, "Yeah, you're right. Let's try it." Clearing his throat, he pointed his wand at the book in front of him and, focusing on the word of interest in his mind, said, " _Querare librum_  monkshood!"

The book flipped open to the article on monkshood, the first instance of the word "monkshood" glowing yellow on the page.

Thrilled, Harry made a wave with his wand. The first instance of the word stopped glowing, and the second instance began to glow. " _Finite incantatem."_  Turning to Draco, he said excitedly, "Draco, we did it – the Word Search Charm!"

Draco grinned, pride written all over his face. "This would make homework go a lot faster!" He paused before he said, his face bright with amazement, "I can't believe this…I created a spell with you."

It was a beautiful feeling, Harry decided. Sharing a big accomplishment with someone. Sharing in the thrill of a breakthrough and the pride of achievement. Sharing in the frustrations and the setbacks. The comraderie was addicting. Harry had never worked on a project with someone before – in elementary school, he was always without a partner on school projects, and even as he entered the Wizarding World, he never worked on a project with someone as a partner (teacher-student work like making robes with Madam Malkin didn't really count)…

As he looked at Draco's face, he saw those emotions flit across his partner's face, most likely mirroring his own.

…

Harry glanced back at Hermione. She looked as though she were walking to the gallows. There was no use telling her that flying wasn't as bad as she was making it out to be, that the sky was the realm of freedom if only one had confidence. "Scared, Hermione?" he asked softly. It wasn't to tease her but to let her know that he was very much aware of her feelings at the moment.

"A little," she said, almost a whimper. "I just don't get why we have to do this at night…"

"The Houses have their practices during the day," Harry said. "Besides, I want to show you something that you can only see at night."

"It's also after curfew…"

"I asked Professor Dumbledore, and he's fine with it for tonight," Harry said patiently, knowing that her protests and complaints stemmed from her nervousness. They walked towards the Quidditch field, and once there, Harry handed Hermione his Nimbus 1900. "Okay, show me how you hold onto it."

Hermione swallowed before swinging her leg over the broom and gripping the handle. "Like this?" she asked uncertainly.

"Not quite. Your hands are too close to your body. If you hold it like that, you will have less control over the broomstick because it will require more force on your part to turn it. Try placing your hands like this…" Harry leaned over her shoulder to get a sense of distance from her point of view. Then he took her hand and placed it further up the handle. "Doesn't that feel more stable?"

Hermione's breath hitched at Harry's close proximity. "Y-yeah, it does," she stammered out.

"Good," Harry said. "Now this is important – when you turn, you don't pull to the side. It feels quite awkward, and you won't feel in control. Instead, what you want to do is lean your body in the direction that you want to turn in and then pull the handle towards yourself."

Hermione stared at him in confusion.

Harry chuckled before waving his hand at her. "Scoot up."

"What?"

"I'll show you what I mean so that you can feel what that feels like."

Hermione's face heated up as Harry got on the broom behind her.

He gripped the handle right behind her hands. "Ready?" At her stiff nod, he kicked off from the ground. Feeling her tense up, he whispered in her ear, "Close your eyes, and just feel, alright? I promise I won't let you fall."

Hermione closed her eyes, and it was as though the rest of the world below melted away. She could only perceive the wind, the broom, and Harry's warmth.

"Now, just memorize my movements."

Hermione felt Harry pulling away from her as though he were straightening up in his seat and followed suit. Then she felt him pull up the front of the handle as he pushed the tail downwards. And just like that, she understood what he was trying to tell her.

"You should try it. It's really intuitive once you get the hang of it. Try going left."

Hermione leaned to the left and then pulled away from the handle as Harry had done. To her glee, when she pulled the handle towards herself, she could feel the broomstick changing directions.

"Remember not to push on the handle with your hands when straightening up. You didn't do that, but I'm just reminding you," Harry said. "Think you can open your eyes?"

Hermione opened her eyes and immediately shut them again. They were so high up…

"I want to show you something that I think will help you with your fear of heights," Harry said.

Hermione breathed more easily at the sound of his voice, nonjudgmental and calm.

"Do you trust me, Hermione?"

What kind of a question was that? Hermione tried not to read more into it and simply nodded. She felt him take her hands.

"Let go."

Although terrified even with her eyes closed, she obeyed and let go. She trusted him.

"Okay, sit up."

Hermione gasped as Harry pulled her arms out, her robes billowing behind them…like wings.

"Open your eyes, but don't look down."

Shaking, she opened her eyes. This time, she did not close them. Instead, wonder and amazement filled her. They were flying over the lake, the full moon large and bright over the horizon. The water shimmered in an ethereal dance. "Harry, this is beautiful," she breathed. "This…this is freedom."

Harry closed his eyes and let out a soft, content sigh. She couldn't voice his thoughts more accurately.

…

Ron bit his lower lip in concentration. "Rook to E7."

"Rook to A8. "

"That's brutal, Harry."

Harry laughed. "If I can't win, I should at least keep you on your toes, shouldn't I?" The only one who had been able to beat Ron at least some of the time was Draco, who had been taught chess at a young age – apparently more than just a game in aristocratic circles, chess was very often used to settle disputes if the opponents didn't want to resort to duelling.

"Well then…" Ron smirked. "Queen to A8."

Unperturbed, Harry commented, "Am I really the brutal one? Knight to E3. Checkmate."

Ron blinked. "What?"

"You're a bit off your game today, Ron," Harry teased.

Ron narrowed his eyes. "Rematch," he demanded.

"You're on." Harry matched Ron's gaze. And they both resetted the board. It was interesting really, Harry mused. When he first started to learn how to play chess, he had done so reluctantly – he felt that in light of his more recent problems, the frivolity of chess didn't match well with him. And during their first game, Harry lost spectacularly. And so did their next few games. Not that Harry had been trying too hard. He simply had too many other things on his mind.

Then after a while, Harry noticed that Ron seemed to be having less and less fun and that Ron also seemed to be taking chess less seriously because he couldn't go all out with Harry, who wasn't trying his best. After all, putting forth one's best when one's opponent couldn't be bothered to try their hardest was rather offputting…And so, Harry began to put more effort into their games.

And as he put more effort into their games, the fire in Ron's eyes grew brighter.

"Pawn to A5."

It was almost as though Ron was a reflection of Harry himself, Harry thought.

_His uncle was pulling inside a child by the hair, but the child wasn't Harry…Hermione's eyes screwed shut in pain, but not a sound escaped her. Her silence made the scene even more horrifying._

"Harry? Your turn. Harry?"

Harry stared at the chessboard.

_His uncle was pulling inside a child by the hair, and the child was Harry…Harry's eyes screwed shut in pain, but not a sound escaped him. His silence made the scene even more horrifying._

_I need you to remember this, Harry – those who desire to see you suffer would not hesitate to inflict suffering on others if the opportunity presents itself._

Ron was a reflection of him, and so were Draco and Hermione. And he was also a reflection of his friends.

"Harry, are you alright?"

Harry looked up at him. "I'm alright, Ron. I'm more than alright. I have to go." And with that, he ran out, leaving a very confused Ron.

…

_"You came quite suddenly, Harry."_

_"I…I think I understand what I was supposed to have learned, Sir."_

_Nicolas considered him for a minute before nodding. "Then let's try the boggart again, shall we?"_

_Harry nodded with grim determination and pulled out his wand._

_"Ready?"_

_The wardrobe doors flung open. This time, a rather average woman came out. However, her eyes were just as cruel as Vernon's and Lucius's. She peered at Harry as though she would like nothing more than to see him in pain and to hear his whimpers and cries. She circled him like a predator before leaning in close to his ear and saying, "It's been a bit of a stressful day for me. I need a release. Get on your hands and knees…"_

_Harry's knees instinctively buckled, but with Nicolas's cautious warning echoing through his mind, he managed to stay standing. Shaking, he growled out, "I may be terrified of you, but I'm not going down without a fight! Incendio!" Fire burst out of the end of his wand and engulfed the woman who screamed curses at him before disappearing. Panting, he relaxed a bit before the boggart assumed the shape of another person in front of him._

_It was a thin, dark-haired man dressed in an impeccable suit. In his hand was a wooden cane. He immediately cracked the cane across Harry's face. "You dare raise your wand at me, boy?"_

_Harry could feel a bruise forming below his eye. Glaring at the boggart, he fired off two spells in quick succession, "Petrificus totalus! Depulso!" The man froze and was then sent flying back into the wardrobe. "Colloportus!" The wardrobe doors closed and locked._

_The sound of clapping turned Harry's attention towards Nicolas in the corner. "Very well executed, Harry. We'll continue this exercise for a while more until you are fully physically reconditioned. Then we will begin your actual training."_

_A smile of pride made its way onto Harry's face before he asked, "Sir, I don't understand why things changed."_

_Nicolas folded his hands in front of him. "I certainly don't know exactly what your conclusion was. However, I will tell you this, Harry – things changed when you realized who you are and the role you want in this world. You told me once that your phoenix bonded to you when you decided to live for others – you decided to die to yourself and reborn in others. But let me be clear to you, my boy – you had forgotten the rebirth, and there is not much use of a dead man in another. Things changed when you realized that you need to live if you want to be alive in others."_

_..._

_"How are your memories? Any nightmares?"_

_"They're slowly coming back, Sir. The memories I mean. They're becoming more and more vivid with each day." Harry smiled happily. "But they're nowhere near as bad as they were before. Actually, the nightmares came back too, but I can't really call them nightmares."_

_Nicolas gave him a curious look._

_"I fought back in those dreams. And I won_ _. It's even better than not having them at all."_


	16. The Loss of Innocence

Easter was approaching, and the teachers were piling homework on all of them to prepare them for the upcoming exams. Harry found himself, even with his rate of learning, struggling to balance the increase in work load with his sessions with Nicolas, which were draining to say the least. Wood was also determined to push them all in the final sprint to win the Quidditch Cup. Harry, knowing how important it was to his captain, didn't complain but instead figured out a schedule with his time turner.

However, he quickly found out that it wasn't so much the lack of time that was the problem but the energy drain. Practice in the mornings was fine since it invigorated him for the day, but practice in the evening as well was a struggle, especially since he would have to turn back time to go to Nicolas's sessions, which occurred at the same time. By the time he got back, he was struggling to remain awake to do his homework – even if he understood the material, he still needed to do the work. Breaks were no longer breaks but rather time for him to quickly finish his homework before it was due in his next class.

It also didn't help that Hermione was stressing out over exams already.

"What's the magical plant that makes fresh skin grow over a wound?" Draco asked, bored.

"Dittany," Hermione said promptly. "It's dittany, isn't it?"

"Corrrrrrect. Honestly, can't you force Weasley to be your study guide…?" Draco managed to drawl out before Hermione interrupted him.

"I don't believe you. Give me that!" She snatched  _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_ from him and began reading the passage on dittany feverishly. Once convinced that she had answered correctly, she pushed the book back into his hands and said, "I don't trust Ron with anything related to school…"

"Hey!"

"…and Harry is already helping me with flying lessons!" She glanced at Harry, who was scribbling down his Transfiguration essay, seemingly oblivious to what was going on around him. Even in her stress, she noticed Harry seemed to be more behind on his work than usual, and she wasn't about to add to that.

Draco pushed the book back at her. "Granger, I am busy enough without you pushing your stress on me."

Hermione scowled at him before crossing her arms and demanding, "Busy with what, Malfoy? You already finished your work."

Draco stood up. "I need to do my hair, straighten my robes, and bully Longbottom. If you'll excuse me…" He ran up the stairs, leaving Hermione fuming behind him.

Before Hermione could pull a Draco move and start ranting, Harry closed his Transfiguration text and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I think we all need a bit of a break. I certainly do. Let's take a walk."

"That's a brilliant idea," Draco said, suddenly reappearing down the stairs. "I think I can put off doing my hair and straightening up my robes. Longbottom hid himself in the bathroom when I slammed open our dorm door, so I think I can cross bullying him off my to-do list."

"I don't know why he's terrified of you. You're just some stuck-up blond with a bad attitude," Ron said. Then he added reluctantly, "You also haven't done anything to him except breath the same air."

"Don't remind me," Draco said, shivering, as he followed Harry out the portrait hole.

"Neville's more than you would ever be, Malfoy," Ron huffed.

"Boo-hoo, poor me, I'm green with envy," Draco said. "As if I want to be that brainless twit. Must I remind you that he sent half the Potions class to the Hospital Wing last week because he forgot to add the beetle eyes,  _right after Snape reminded everyone to._ "

"Isn't that where the groundskeeper lives?" Harry interrupted him, pointing to a hut as they passed it. Just as he said that, there was a loud bang coming from the inside of the hut.

"What was that?" Ron asked.  _BANG! BANG! BANG!_  "Is he rebuilding his hut or something?"

Draco ran up closer to the window to the hut. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"I sure did," Harry whispered, shocked. "There's no mistaking it. That was a Norwegian Ridgeback."

Ron's eyes looked as though they were going to pop out of his skull. "There's a dragon in that  _wooden_ hut?"

"Yeah," Draco breathed, his face pressed against the window.

Harry shook his head in disbelief before running around to the front door of the hut, his friends trailing behind him. "There is no way he has a license to raise or to keep a dragon."

Ron looked at him uncertainly. "But, mate, you have a license…"

"Mine's different. It was issued  _centuries_  ago, when raising and keeping dragons were still legal. Then when they became illegal here, my license became an inherited item to ensure that I can keep the dragons who have made their homes on my estate. So long as they don't cause trouble, I am allowed to keep my license."

Draco and Hermione stared at him. "You have a license to raise and keep dragons?"

Harry nodded before knocking on the hut door. "Not to breed them though. I don't ever want to get near the dragons during their mating ritual…"

The door opened to reveal a large man – a  _giant_  of a man to be precise. "Hello," he said, clearly nervous. "Shouldn' yeh all be in class?"

"It's a Sunday, Sir," Harry said, trying to keep his voice calm. "Sir, are you raising a dragon in here?"

Hagrid twitched slightly at being called "Sir." "Dragon? Wha' dragon? Dunno wha' yeh're talkin' about," he said, talking far too quickly.

Draco tried to look around Hagrid to see the dragon, but Hagrid seemed to be purposefully blocking the entire entrance.

"Sir…" Harry began.

"Call me Hagrid," the giant interrupted him quickly.

"Hagrid," Harry corrected himself. "A dragon is not going to be happy in a wooden hut. Unless it's using it for target practice."

"I tol' yeh already! There's no dragon…" There was a screech behind him. "Jus' a…rooster. One of 'em's been kinda sick lookin' lately…"

Harry sighed. He understood how attached one could be to a dragon at hatching. It appeared he would have to do this the hard way. He swallowed and tried to imitate the sound he had heard a mother Ridgeback made to her hatchling.

There was a loud sound behind Hagrid before something scrambled out from between Hagrid's legs and leaped into Harry's waiting arms, knocking him over and backwards.

The silence was deafening.

The Ridgeback was already fairly large, almost as long as Hagrid was tall.

Hagrid finally burst into tears. "Alrigh' so I have a dragon! But he's not dangerous! Look at 'im!"

Suddenly to everyone's shock, Harry began to laugh. He reached behind the Ridgeback to an area between the shoulders, scratching it and causing the dragon to go limp. Pushing it off him, he stood up. When he stopped caressing the spot between the shoulders, the dragon growled and tried to bite him, once again aggressive. He chuckled and sidestepped the attack before wrapping his arm around the Ridgeback's snout, locking its top and bottom jaws together. "Will you stop being a brat now?"

Ron gawked before saying, "You've lost your marbles. But that was brilliant."

Harry smiled fondly at the dragon before saying, "It's not that cool if you understand the anatomy of a Norwegian Ridgeback. The area between the shoulders is where a mother would have carried her young to move them places. Touching it causes the dragon to relax on instinct. Also, for a Ridgeback, they don't depend on the strength of their bites to hunt – they rely on their venom and flames. Their jaw muscles are actually quite weak, especially the ones that open, and so I can clamp this one's jaws shut by just using my arm. Their neck muscles are also quite weak, so I don't have to worry much about this one getting away anytime soon." He laughed again. "Hagrid, this one is not male. It's female. You can tell by the markings near the base of her tail…"

Hagrid had been shocked out of his tears. "Oh," he said, not knowing what else to say.

"What's her name?" Harry asked.

"Norbert, but I s'pose Norberta now…"

Draco and Hermione were still staring at Harry in shock. "The hell, Harry?" Draco said. "You've never told me anything about raising dragons!"

"You never asked," Harry said, unflinching as the dragon tried to pull herself out of his grip.

"Do you not tell anyone anything unless they ask?" Hermione asked exasperatedly. "And how does Ron know?"

Harry shrugged sheepishly. "It never came up with you and Draco. Ron knew because the topic came up when I was over at his house over Winter Break." Turning to Hagrid, he said, "Hagrid, you can't keep her here. She'll be a danger to the school. One bite from her even at this stage will send someone to the hospital wing. When she grows older, a bite will probably be the end of someone's life."

"But she's too young ter be out by herself! I can' jus' abandon her!" Hagrid was clearly distressed.

"Can't you just take her to the place you kept Ferdinand, Harry?" Ron asked.

Harry shook his head. "She's too young to survive around other full grown dragons. She needs someone to take care of her until she is old enough, someone who actually has experience with dragons before. Maybe Charlie can take her to Romania?" Harry suggested before letting the dragon go.

Norberta lost her balance and fell backwards. Regaining her senses, she snarled at Harry but hesitated to attack again.

Harry met her glare. "We can do this as often as needed for you to behave," he said.

She then charged at him again.

"Maybe you should raise her," Draco suggested. "You look like you could handle her."

"I don't really want to be responsible for someone's death from her aggressiveness. She's already way more aggressive than Ferdinand was at this age." Harry again locked her jaws together. "Also, I can handle her now because she's so small at this stage, but in a few weeks, if she doesn't calm down, I won't be able to control her."

"Oh, give her a chance! She's jus' gettin' used ter things! She'll be better yeh'll see!" Hagrid said.

Harry looked doubtfully at Norberta before trying a different tactic, "What if someone sees her and reports her to Professor Dumbledore? You could get in serious trouble."

"Jus' have ter hide her," Hagrid said simply.

Harry felt Norberta about to pull hard and let go, causing her to fall backwards once again. He turned to Draco. "I'm crap at this. You do it," he said, exasperated at his failing to convince Hagrid that keeping the dragon was a very bad idea.

Draco turned to Hagrid. "Listen, you big oaf, having a venomous, fire-breathing dragon at Hogwarts is bad. I don't care what excuse you give, but I, and I'm sure many of the population here will agree with me, am uncomfortable with possibly dying every time I walk outside. I want to live to a ripe old age before dying of dragon pox or some stupid old people disease like that. I don't want to be dying of dragon venom or burnt alive…"

"Bloody hell, Malfoy, and you said I'm thoughtless," Ron said.

Draco folded his arms. "I actually put a lot of thought into that. I thought about the dangers posed by that dragon. I thought about other people's feelings. I thought about my future. And I even thought about the best way to get that information through his thick skull. The only thing I didn't bother with was trying to be nice – Harry's already got that covered."

"Alrigh'…"

They all turned to Hagrid, who looked as though he were about to burst into tears again.

"Alrigh'…she can go…prob'ly bes' if she does…"

Draco smirked at Ron. "As you can see, Weasley, I am actually very thoughtful."

…

"I actually feel quite terrible for him," Hermione said. "He must feel like he's losing his daughter. His dangerous, overly aggressive daughter but still his daughter…"

"It's his fault for taking the egg from a random stranger," Draco said, although he, too, felt rather bad about the whole affair.

They had sent a letter to Charlie earlier that day before Hermione, Draco, and Ron left for dinner. Hagrid had been crying so much that Harry stayed back with him to comfort him.

"I don't know what Harry's thinking either," Hermione said. "Skipping dinner. He has practice later tonight!" With that, she began piling food onto an extra plate. "Boys…they think they're invincible…"

"I mean, Harry has good reason to think he's invincible, right?" Ron said, taking a large bite of potato. "Who else do you know plays Quidditch for their house as a first year, creates spells before they're even enrolled in Hogwarts, raises dragons on the side, and slays trolls without breaking a sweat?"

Draco shifted uncomfortably, the memory of the incident at Madam Malkin's, coupled with Ron's words, making him uneasy. There was something they were missing, something big, something that made his image of his best friend incomplete.

"No one's invincible, Ron," Hermione said, frowning. "Including Harry."

Ron's eyebrows furrowed. "Don't you guys find it odd?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Find what odd?"

"Harry." Ron shoved another bite into his mouth as he thought. "Do you feel like you actually know him?"

Hermione and Draco stared at him.

"I mean, all I know about him is that he's a talented, nice bloke," Ron said, defending himself. "And someone that I'm comfortable with. But I don't actually know anything about him. I know more about Malfoy, and we hate each other."

Draco was affronted. "Know what about me?" he said, horrified at the thought.

"Like you're terrified of thunderstorms because when you were little, you asked your house elf to…"

"Alright, alright!" Draco cried. "Shut up already! What does this have to do with Harry?"

"Well, do you know what he's afraid of, Malfoy? Because I sure don't. Do you know anything about his home life or what it was like for him when he was little? I heard he was raised by Muggles, but clearly the rumors went off the deep end at some point because he's emancipated?"

Draco frowned.  _I do not know nor do I care to know what in his past had made him so tamable. However, with the right attitude towards him, Draco, you can turn him into quite a well-trained dog._

Hermione lowered her head. For once, Ron said something that was quite thought-provoking. Harry had told her that he lived for others, but he never said anything about his motivations. In fact, he was almost a mystery to her. He was too mature, too calm…it wasn't just that he was strange for an eleven-year-old. He seemed completely out of the 'normal' category.

"The other day, we were playing chess, and he just suddenly runs out on me. I didn't see him until the next morning, and all he said was 'I finally understand our relationship.' What does that even mean?" Ron said. When Draco laughed into his pumpkin juice, Ron said darkly, "You laugh, but you should have seen his face. He looked like I just died and came back from the dead."

"What's your point, Ron?" Hermione asked. "Why bring this up now?"

Ron paused before saying slowly, "What if the reason we don't know anything about him is because he doesn't think we're worthy of being told his secrets? Let's face it – he's done a lot more things than all of us combined. I wasn't really asking a rhetorical question – who else do you know can do what he does? We trust him, and we tell him all sorts of things. But does he trust us?"

Draco felt a terror claw its way around in his chest. It was such a terrible thought – his best friend not trusting him with his secrets. But he couldn't deny it – he didn't know much about Harry beyond what Ron said. Harry knew him, but he didn't really know Harry. Harry never explained the incident at Madam Malkin's. Harry never explained the troll incident. Harry never explained how and why he worked at Madam Malkin's in the first place. Harry never explained how he came to know Dumbledore on such a personal level. Sure he had let him in that he was the student of Nicolas Flamel, but he never said anything about their lessons – in fact, Draco had never seen him go off to these lessons as he seemed to always be with him unless he was at Quidditch Practice. What was going on?

They were quiet the rest of dinner, wondering what Harry really thought of them. Did he really think they were unworthy of being let into his life?

Later that night, Harry came into the common room, looking troubled.

"Harry, you look as though you've seen a ghost," Hermione said before offering him the plate of food, which he gratefully accepted. "What happened at Hagrid's?"

Harry shook his head. "It's not what happened at Hagrid's that worries me. It's what's happening outside of Hagrid's. Something bad is going on." And with that, he disappeared up to the boy's dormitories. He didn't notice his friends exchanging glances.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Draco asked.

"I told you he doesn't trust us," Ron said.

…

They received a response from Charlie a few days later, and they agreed to meet him a few days after that at Hagrid's hut. The plan was that he would take Norberta outside the apparition wards and then apparate with Norberta back to Romania.

"Harry, why is Sasha coming with us?" Hermione asked. It was rare that he would take her when he was with them because Ron was so uncomfortable around her. However, today, she was slithering right next to Harry as they walked to Hagrid's.

Harry, looking distracted and more solemn than usual, said, "I need her with me tonight."

Hermione tried to hide her hurt. There it was – Harry answering her question without really answering it. She had never noticed it until after Ron pointed it out a few days ago.

Ron and Draco were quiet the entire walk there.

As they arrived at Hagrid's, he was sniffling as he carried the box containing Norberta outside. The dragon was clearly displeased as she was banging away inside the box. "She's got lots o' rats and some brandy fer the journey," he said. "An' I've packed her teddy bear in case she gets lonely."

There was a ripping sound inside the box.

"I take it that's Norberta," came a voice behind them. Charlie, along with an older man, could be seen walking towards them, each holding a broomstick.

"That's her alright," Harry said. "You'll have your arms full with her."

Charlie chuckled before turning to his companion. "By the way, this is Professor Mihai, my mentor. He was very interested in meeting one of the few people in the world with a license to raise dragons. He's been the lead researcher working with Ferdinand for the last few months."

"Pleasure to meet you at last, Mr. Potter," the man said, his voice deep and lightly accented.

"Same, Sir. How is Ferdinand?"

"He's doing quite well I believe. When you have some time off, you can visit our facilities in Romania to see how he's doing for yourself. I never thought we'd ever be able to study the psychology of dragons so closely. Perhaps you can give us some insight while you're there as well."

Harry nodded. "I don't think I'll have time until this summer, but I will definitely take you up on that offer."

Mihai turned to Charlie. "Shall we?"

"Yes, Sir." And with that, the two grabbed the handles on Norberta's box and then took off on their broomsticks.

"Don' forget ter talk ter her!" Hagrid called out tearfully. "She migh' get scared!"

After they disappeared from view, Harry said, "You guys should go back. Curfew's soon."

Ron turned to him, but he didn't look surprised. "What about you, mate?"

"I have something I need to do here," Harry said, glancing at Hagrid before turning to his friends. To his surprise and concern, they all seemed a bit…off. "Are you guys okay?" he asked, worry for them taking precedence. Did something happen to them? Had he been so distracted with what he heard was happening in the Forbidden Forest that he hadn't been paying attention to what was happening with his friends?

"We're fine, Harry. We'll see you later tonight," Hermione said quietly.

As they left, each felt that while they were physically in Harry's life, in reality, they were looking in from the outside.

Harry, on the other hand, was completely confused at their behavior. However, he pushed it aside, resolving to figure things out after his task. "Hagrid, should we go?"

Hagrid sniffled before nodding. "Migh' get me mind off Norberta." With that, Hagrid and Harry set off into the Forbidden Forest, Fang and Sasha following their respective owners. It was a comfortable silence, even though the forest around them was dark and not at all inviting. Their shared love of animals, dangerous or not, was what drew them together. When Hagrid was crying over Norberta, Harry had stayed with him and learned all about his fondness for animals. He also learned that the Forbidden Forest wasn't as dangerous as Dumbledore had made it out to be during the Welcoming Feast.

After a while, Harry saw it. The corpse. A chill went down his spine even as he felt his heart squeeze in grief.

"I foun' this one a week or two ago," Hagrid said, leaning down to pick up some of a thick, silvery liquid – unicorn blood - between his fingers. "Another one's bin hur' badly."

Harry knelt down beside the corpse. "This one's drained of blood," he said, touching the various wounds on the unicorn. "This can't be an animal's doing." He stood up. "Someone's been here, and they were drinking unicorn blood."

_"My lord…the blood here is still fresh…"_

Harry stiffened. The corpse was cold. "Hagrid, the other unicorn passed by here very recently."

"How…?" Hagrid looked shocked.

"Never mind that! We have to find it before whoever is hunting it!" Concerned for the unicorn, Harry began running after Sasha, who was already ahead of him, staying on the scent even when the blood stains would become hard to make out.

"Harry, slow down!" Hagrid called out to him, his size slowing him down.

_"It's still alive,"_  she hissed back to him. " _It's stumbling, I can feel the vibrations_."

" _Good, keep going._ " Harry turned around and flicked his wand into the air.  _"Lumos Maxima!_  Follow the lights, Hagrid! We can't afford to slow down – the unicorn might die before we get to it!"

_"My lord, there is something else here…"_

Harry could feel his heart pounding away within his chest. The murderer was there. In the forest with them.  _"If things get bad, I trust you, Sasha."_

_"I won't fail you."_  And with that, she led him over several exposed roots.

Harry gasped. There. The unicorn. It was barely standing on shaky legs. Finally, it collapsed against a tree trunk. To his horror, a hooded figure was also approaching it. " _Incendio!"_  Fire rushed forth from his wand between the figure and the unicorn, halting the figure in its tracks. "Leave it alone!"

The figure turned to him.

Harry steeled himself, and as the figure flew towards him, he cried out, " _Flipendo! Depulso!"_

However, both spells had no effect as the figure took out its own wand, and a shield was pulled up. Then with a flick, Harry's wand flew out of his hand.  _"Sasha!"_

Sasha was already in the air in midstrike against the figure.

Moving at lightning speed, it shot several spells at her. With a normal snake, each spell would have connected, but Sasha was no normal snake – there was a good reason she was at the Magical Menagerie. Twisting in the air, her body bent around the spells which shot straight past her, and she sank her fangs into the figure's wand hand. Without waiting for a reaction, she let go and rose back to go for another strike – this time at the figure's neck.

The figure flew back and disappeared into the Forbidden Forest.

Adrenaline still rushing through his veins, Harry called out to his snake, who was about to follow the retreating figure,  _"Leave it, Sasha! Remember the scent!"_

Sasha returned to him.  _"My lord, I know that scent! I have smelled it around your school!"_

Harry nodded.  _"Good job, Sasha. We'll get to the bottom of this later. Right now…"_ He ran over to where his wand flew and picked it up before rushing to the unicorn. Knowing that unicorns preferred a woman's, especially a virgin's, touch and he was neither, Harry stayed several feet away.

"Harry!" Hagrid panted, finally having caught up. "Did you find it?"

Harry didn't reply. The unicorn was barely breathing. "Aurora!"

A burst of fire signaled her arrival. Without need of a command, she leaned over the unicorn, her tears dripping onto its wounds and healing it one injury at a time.

The unicorn began to breathe easier. But it was lying on its side, and its injuries on its other side were not yet treated.

Harry bowed his head. "Forgive me - I'm not worthy, but only for your sake.  _Wingardium Leviosa_." And with that, he levitated the unicorn up and flipped it over with some help from Aurora reorienting it.

When the unicorn was fully healed, it blinked blearily before stumbling slightly onto its hooves. Then it turned to look at Harry.

Harry took a step back before looking away. The unicorn's coat was a brilliant white, reminding him of the innocence and purity of the creature in front of him, and he felt too tainted, too damaged in every way, to look at it in the eye. Perhaps he should have brought Hermione, Ron, or Draco along with him. His innocence, both in mind and body, was taken away from him years ago.

However, the unicorn didn't gallop away. Instead it came closer to him before lying down, looking at him expectantly.

Uncertain, he sat down beside it, keeping his distance so as to avoid accidentally touching it. They stayed like that for a while before Harry realized that the unicorn was actually enjoying his presence. He didn't have much practical experience with unicorns since they tended to be fleet of foot and shy, but he recognized the signs of a happy horse. "Erm…I'm surprised you're staying so long," he said. "I didn't think I'm quite your type…"

The unicorn shut him up by laying its head on his lap, keeping the full weight off him but making it clear that it had no issues trusting and touching him.

Harry's breath hitched before he relaxed. Somewhere deep inside him was a cry of gratefulness and relief.

Perhaps he wasn't so tainted after all.

Or perhaps innocence and purity in the ways that mattered to a unicorn went beyond the body and mind and into the spirit.

…

As they walked back to Hagrid's hut, Harry stopped at a small pool of unicorn blood. Leaning down, he pulled out a vial and took some of the blood.

"What are yeh doin', Harry?" Hagrid asked, shocked. The man had been quiet most of the walk back.

"I'm not going to drink it," Harry said, capping the vial. "But I do want to keep a reminder of that unicorn and of what was lost here to keep an evil alive."

Hagrid's dark eyes turned kind. "Yeh don' talk yer age, Harry. When I carried yeh as a baby, I wouldn'ta ever 'spected yeh ter turn out this way."

Harry stared at him. "What?" He had a feeling he was going to stay at Hagrid's a lot longer than he had intended.


	17. Measure of Strength

The Easter holidays provided Harry a much needed break, although they came too soon for him to have the chance to track down the scent or to figure out what was happening with his friends. With Quidditch out of the way, he found he had much more energy to be spent focusing on Nicolas's lessons. And as a result, a few days into the break, Nicolas announced a change to the routine.

"Harry, it is time."

Harry turned to his teacher, having just put away the boggart with a simple flick of his wand. "For what, Sir?"

"For a final test of your growth and healing." Nicolas offered his arm to the boy and explained, "You will obtain closure by coming face to face with your deepest fear. Come with me."

Harry widened his eyes as he understood what the man was suggesting. "You're joking, Sir," he said anxiously.

Nicolas shook his head. "Harry," he began, gentle but firm. "Think about your life until this point. You have faced trials and overcame them, undergoing growth beyond some much older wizards. But you will never have peace until you've obtained closure. Otherwise, even with your reconditioning, you will always wonder, and fear, what would happen if you meet your greatest fear face-to-face."

Harry wanted to protest, but remembering his teacher's teaching on obedience, he lowered his head, knowing that Nicolas was right. He took hold of Nicolas's arm and said, "I trust you. You told me to come, and so I will."

Nicolas was touched. "I have seen many students – those of my friends, those of my friends' students, and those of their students, but your disposition is the most pleasing I've seen. Which is quite surprising, given your past." He paused. "Or perhaps not. The ability to choose to obey without fear can make all the difference."

Harry repeated Nicolas's words, "The master's will and the student's will are at the core one and the same."

"Ready?" At Harry's nod, he apparated them to a familiar neighborhood, at least for the boy next to him.

Seeing Number 4 Private Drive again made Harry feel like throwing up. His heart felt like it could burst within his chest, and his lungs felt dysfunctional. His body was numb, already breaking out in cold sweat. He was very much on the edge of a panic attack, and only Nicolas's comforting presence prevented it.

"I will wait for you here. When you have obtained your closure, return to me."

"Yes, Sir," Harry said, his voice wavering. It took him a while to let go of his teacher's arm and walk up the driveway and the steps to the doorway to his childhood of terror. Zombie-like, he raised a fist and knocked on the door a few times.

The seconds felt like days until the door opened to reveal an elderly lady who seemed surprised to see Harry on her doorstep and asked him kindly, "What can I help you with, dear?"

Harry gawked before asking shyly, "Er…could you tell me where the previous owners of this house live now?"

The lady frowned. "Oh, dear…that's quite a while ago. I'm afraid I can't help you there, child."

"It's alright. Sorry to bother you," Harry said. And when the door closed, he returned to Nicolas. "They no longer live here, Sir."

"I see. It won't be difficult to find them." Nicolas waved his wand, and a glowing light appeared in front of them. "Please take my hand, Harry." Once Harry's hand was in his, they stepped into the light and apparated.

Harry stared at the building in front of him. His relatives couldn't possibly be living here, could they? The Dursleys were quite proud of how well off they were and liked to show off. They were not the type to live in an apartment.

Nicolas simply flicked his wand at the door, and it clicked open. The glowing light from before floated ahead of them and stopped at a door further down the hallway. "Go on, Harry."

Harry approached the door, swallowed his nervousness, and then knocked.

The door opened to reveal an uncharacteristically disheveled Petunia. She looked down at him before shock came over her face. After a moment of silence, she said tightly, warily, "What are you doing here?"

Harry's hand tightened on the wand in his pocket. His mind calmed as it always did when he was ready to fight. "I'm here for a visit," he said, purposefully answering the question she asked but not the question she meant. He waited for her to invite him in.

Petunia pursed her lips before stepping aside. "Get in then."

Harry sighed as he stepped inside, fiddling with his wand handle as his eyes searched the apartment nervously for any sign of his uncle. "It's amazing that you can't bring yourself to talk to me with at least the same decency as you would one of Dudley's classmates." He sat down on the couch, still on edge. "Where's Uncle Vernon? And Dudley? It's a Saturday." Tense silence greeted his questions.

"I don't know where Dudley is," she said, her voice trembling. "And Vernon…" She swallowed hard before continuing, barely above a whisper, "Vernon is dead."

Harry's eyebrows furrowed. Neither answer was expected. He waited for an elaboration.

"Your Headmaster placed a curse on Vernon when he picked you up three years ago. The curse forced Vernon to go through the same experiences he had put you through," Petunia said, looking as though she were about to cry. "Vernon couldn't handle the torture and the emotional turmoil. After three months, I found him…his body…swinging from the railings."

All the fight left Harry in that instant. He didn't know how to feel about his childhood tormentor committing suicide.

"Life insurance refused to pay out because we were claiming suicide but he didn't get checked for mental illness. We couldn't afford continuing to live the way we used to, so we moved here.

"It was all very stressful for Dudley, and he began to hang out with some strange boys in the area. I don't have time to keep track of him. Not when I have to work to put food on the table." She glanced at the clock before saying softly, "You should leave now."

It was too much information for Harry to process in the short amount of time during which she delivered it. Reluctantly, he stood up to leave, not having the heart to make things harder for her than they already were.

Before he could get out the door, however, there was a knock. Petunia quickly opened it to reveal a much older man in a suit. The strong smell of his cologne made Harry want to puke, and his voice oozed, "Hullo, darling." He glanced at Harry, and his grin got wider, "You really are a desperate whore, aren't you, my dear? How much did he pay you?"

"He's my nephew," Petunia said.

The man chuckled. "You're even more depraved than I thought."

Harry didn't know what to do when his aunt lowered her head, humiliated. Not sure what was going on, he quickly made his way out the door. Before he closed the door behind him however, he could hear the man saying, "I've brought some nice toys for today, darling. One of them will definitely stretch that sweet cunt of yours outside your comfort zone…" He walked, almost ran, back to Nicolas. "Please, Sir, can we leave?"

Nicolas placed a hand on his shoulder and apparated both of them back to Flamel Chateau. "You did not get closure." It wasn't a question.

Harry shook his head. The visit gave him anything but closure. "My uncle wasn't even there. He's dead."

_…_

"Yes, Harry, I did put a curse on your uncle so that he would experience everything that he inflicted on you – the emotional pain and the physical torture." Dumbledore tilted his head curiously at the boy in front of him. "Could you possibly be feeling sorry for him, Harry? Remember that that curse inflicted on him only what he inflicted on you, nothing more and nothing less." His eyes widened in shock when Harry looked up at him, his gaze sharp. It was the first time he had ever seen that look in Harry's eyes.

"If that's your reasoning, Sir, then wouldn't you be on the same footing as him?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore's wince was so small that anyone less observant than the student of Nicolas Flamel would have missed it. Ever since Harry told him that he forgave him that night, they never brought it up again. In fact, to Dumbledore, it was as if Harry had forgotten all about his terrible mistake, so complete was his sincerity. Could Harry have been holding a grudge against him all this time? The thought grieved him. "Are you saying, Harry, that you want my suffering as well?" he asked.

"I told you I forgave you, Sir, and I meant every word."

"Ah. Please forgive my lack of understanding, Harry, but you must explain what you mean then by me being on the same footing as your uncle. Surely you're not saying that you believe your uncle should have gotten off scot free for what he had done to you?"

"I am referring to the fact that you thought it fitting to be the one to punish my uncle. Just because you didn't directly hit me doesn't mean that you're not just as guilty. When I said you are on the same footing as him, I don't mean that you both deserve to suffer the same punishment. I mean that you are both just as responsible and just as guilty." Harry paused, trying to figure out how to phrase his next words. "Justice wasn't yours to hand out."

Dumbledore tilted his head curiously. "Then tell me, Harry – how would you do it differently?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe I would have thought he deserved the same thing. Or maybe I would have forgiven him like I did you, in which case, you can't complain. But I can't really know now, since he's dead."

…

"Sir, what do I do now?" Harry asked Nicolas. "How can I get closure if the person I need to obtain closure from is dead?"

Nicolas hummed to himself as he looked out the window. "In a certain sense, you have already obtained closure on the issue. Your uncle is dead, so you no longer have to worry about him." He turned to him. "But I can tell this is not what you meant – this type of closure doesn't give you peace, does it?"

Harry shook his head.

"Unfortunately, I cannot tell you exactly the steps you need to do in order to obtain such peace. I knew that you needed to see your relatives as the launching pad to it. However, what you do from there on out, your decisions will determine the end result. My telling you what to do will not do it."

Harry was surprised to see faith and trust in Nicolas's eyes.

"But do not doubt your ability to make the right decisions, Harry. You will know what to do. I am sure of it."

"How can you say that, Sir?"

"You are my student, Harry. If I don't have complete faith in you, my living legacy, then what is the point of becoming your master?" He stood up to open a cupboard and pull out a small candle. "Alas, while we wait for your mind to come up with a solution, we will go on with the precursor to your training. Occlumency."

Harry gave him a confused look. "Blocking my mind, Sir?"

"Ah, so you have heard of it. Yes. That is precisely it. You see, I don't want notes to be taken because physical copies of information are the easiest stolen. However, the mind is only slightly safer. Unless you can defend your mind and defend it well, any accomplished Legilimens can look into your mind and get any info they want out of you."

Harry nodded his understanding. "How do I start, Sir?"

"By clearing your mind and focusing on something outside of it." Nicolas lit the candle before placing it on the table in front of Harry. "Focus on this. Let not your mind wander."

…

"What are you doing here again?" Petunia asked. Despite her words, her tone was wary rather than hostile.

"I didn't get what I came to get last time. So I'm going to keep visiting until I do," Harry said firmly.

She stared at him until she finally sighed, looking as though all the spirit had left her. "Come inside then," she said.

"Thank you." Harry took his previous seat on the couch.

There was a long and awkward silence before Petunia asked, surprising Harry with her attempt at hospitality, "Would you like some tea?"

"I would like that very much, thank you." As she busied herself with making tea, he asked, "Why were you with that man last time?"

Petunia's shoulders stiffened. "You're too young to understand," she snapped.

"Try me."

Petunia spun around, looking as though she were going to yell at him. However, seeing his even gaze on her, she stopped. They stared at each other before Petunia broke off first, returning to making tea. "He offered money to have sex with me," she said through clenched teeth.

"Why this for money? Aren't there other options?"

Petunia poured out the tea into two cups before handing one to Harry and keeping the other for herself. "It turns out the world is a small place," she said, her voice quivering. "Vernon, when he was alive, wasn't very popular with the people working under him. Those over him, he treated very well, but not those under him."

Harry could believe that.

"When he died, those people made known all the abuses they suffered while under him." Petunia pursed her lips. "The word 'Dursley' became a dirty word. It made finding a job very difficult. The few places that would accept me, they knew how desperate I was so they would offer me the lowest wages possible and the worst jobs. The wages weren't possible for us to live on. I've regretted until this day that we didn't think to save more."

After that, Harry stopped asking questions, just quietly sipping away at his tea.

"What are you looking for here? We don't have anything that you could want." Petunia's eyes wandered over Harry's clothes, which made up a outfit of jeans, a shirt, and an open button down shirt. While simple, each article was made of quality material and appeared to be tailored to his form - a testament to Madam Malkin's love and skill, which was not limited to wizard's garments. They were a far cry from the clothes he was wearing when he left the Dursleys years ago.

"Just because you don't have it doesn't mean I can't find it here," Harry said.

Suddenly, the door opened, and Dudley shuffled inside. "Mum, I'm home," he muttered.

Harry stared. His cousin's appearance had changed dramatically since the last time he had seen him. Dudley had thinned out, and he looked to be close to the same size as Harry now, albeit a bit taller. He was also sporting a black eye.  _…he began to hang out with some strange boys in the area…_  It didn't take long for Harry to reach a conclusion as to how Dudley got the black eye.

Dudley looked up and stared at Harry. "Who's that?" he asked. "He looks familiar."

Petunia tightened her grip on her cup. "Dudders, that's your cousin. Remember him? Harry Potter. He left us three years ago."

"He's the reason Dad killed himself, isn't he?" Dudley demanded angrily, taking a threatening step towards Harry.

A testament to his reconditioning, rather than freezing up, Harry's hand immediately shot into his pocket, and within a second, his wand was pointed at Dudley's face. "What did I ever do to your dad, Dudley?" he asked calmly. "I didn't place myself on his doorstep as a baby. I didn't cast the curse on him. I wasn't there when he killed himself. And I certainly did not grab his hand and force him to beat me within an inch of my life. So tell me how I am the reason your dad killed himself."

Dudley clenched his fists but didn't make any further intimidating moves. "That curse made Dad experience everything you did," he growled, as if in accusation.

"Specifically everything he inflicted on me." Harry didn't realize how tense he was until that moment. "But he wasn't the only one who abused me."

"No..." Petunia's eyes widened in horror. "Revenge? That's what you're here for?"

Harry saw fear in Dudley's eyes before it was replaced by determination.

"Go ahead then," Dudley said. "Cast the curse on me. I'll take it. And then I'll feel how Dad felt."

"NO!" Petunia's cry tore at Harry's heart. "If you want revenge on him, take it out on me instead," she pleaded, rushing in front of Dudley. "Vernon's gone. I can't lose Dudley too!"

Dudley tried to push his mother out of the way. "Mum, no!"

However, Petunia stayed firmly in place.

Harry froze. His aunt, his mother's sister, standing between him and Dudley was reminiscent of his own mother standing between Voldemort and him. After a silence, he lowered his wand. "I never said anything about revenge. You made the assumption yourself. I was only reminding you and Dudley that your husband wasn't the only one at fault." He pocketed his wand. "Besides, I don't know the curse."

Petunia and Dudley stared at him. Then his aunt fell to her knees, tears running down her face.

Harry looked away awkwardly. Finally, glancing at the clock, he said, desperate for a change in atmosphere, "It's dinnertime. Are you hungry?"

"What are you playing at, Potter?" Dudley demanded.

However, his aunt said demurely, "Yes. I'm sorry, Dudley – I didn't have time to make dinner before you came home."

"Mum, don't apologize," Dudley said, fists clenching and unclenching.

Petunia stood up. "Since you're here, you're welcome to stay for dinner," she said to Harry. "It might be a while though."

"Don't bother," Harry said. "I asked because dinner can be on me tonight to make up for the trouble I just caused. Mistle!"

There was a crack, and there, in front of them, was a house elf. "Master Harry, Sir!" she chirped cheerfully. "What can Mistle do for you, Sir?"

"Can you make dinner in front of us?" Harry asked. "I've always enjoyed watching you make food."

She beamed at him. "Of course, Sir! Anything you like, Master Harry, Sir?"

"Just a traditional dinner please." Harry turned to Petunia and Dudley who were staring at the creature in their living room. "This is Mistle. She makes the best food I know."

"You have your own cook?" Dudley asked stupidly.

Harry nodded. "Watch her. You'll see – magic isn't all bad."

Mistle snapped her fingers, and suddenly the living room table creaked with the weight of a whole raw chicken, potatoes, uncooked steak, flour, butter, and many more ingredients. "Roast chicken, Master Harry, Sir!"

The chicken rose into the air before a stream of salt encircled it, sinking through the skin into the meat. Then a length of twine neatly tied the legs together. Then in front of their very eyes, the chicken's skin browned as it was cooked to perfection, the aroma wafting throughout the apartment.

"Steak and kidney pie, Sir!"

Flour, shortening, and a host of other ingredients for the pie crust combined in the air in a mesmerizing dance…

Before long, the entire table was filled with delicious food.

Harry smiled at his house elf. "Good work, Mistle. Thank you."

"Enjoy, Master Harry, Sir!" And she was gone.

Harry turned to Dudley and Petunia who were staring at the food. Amused, remembering when Dudley used to stuff himself at the sight of any food, no waiting involved, he said encouragingly, "Go on. Taste it."

Dudley folded his arms stubbornly, still looking like he was angry at Harry for Vernon's death. However, his hunger won out, and he tentatively took a bite of the steak and kidney pie. Swallowing, he put his fork down, his face turning pale.

Harry was surprised – Mistle's food had always tasted wonderful to him. "Is it not good?"

"No, it's delicious, the best I've tasted in a long time," Dudley said. There was a silence as he seemed to be struggling between feelings of anger, shame, and guilt. "But what are you trying to do? You can't expect me to believe you're not going to punish us for what we did to you. That's what I would have done. I didn't even need a reason to hurt you."

Harry leaned his head against this hand. "You're not the same person who tormented me years ago. Go on. I know you're hungry."

Dudley lowered his head. "I-I can't eat this," he said.

"Why?"

Dudley frowned, his eleven-year-old mind trying to put what he was thinking and feeling into words. "We starved and tortured you for years even when you begged us to stop. Now you come back, and I'm hungry, but I can't eat this. It doesn't feel right."

"You make it sound as though I'm feeding you poison."

Dudley played with his hands. "I didn't mean it."

"What are you talking about?"

"When I blamed you for dad's death. It's been three years, and I've thought about it a lot. You didn't deserve any of it, and it took seeing dad in so much pain to get it into my head. And to think, he only felt three months of what you went through. I was just so angry at everything when I saw you. I was angry at us for hurting you, angry at dad for leaving us in this mess…" Dudley gripped at his hair. "I don't even know what to say to you. I used to laugh at you in pain, but now, the memories haunt me. Saying sorry isn't nearly enough. I did kind of hope you'd curse me – that way, maybe it would make me feel less guilty about everything." He looked up at Harry, his eyes wild with desperation. "I'm really, really sorry for everything I'd done to you."

Harry recognized the look. It was so similar to his a few months back – the eyes desperate for relief from mental torment. And not one to hold a grudge against someone sincerely contrite, he did as was instinct for him to do. "I forgive you. Eat, and we can let the past die, yeah?" He motioned to the food. "If you don't eat, I'm going to take it as you don't believe me…" He allowed a slightly playful grin to come over his face. "…and then I will wonder how sincere you actually are."

Dudley seemed to struggle with himself before he began stuffing his face with the food, starting with that closest to him, tears streaming down his face.

Harry watched him as he reflected on how unexpected this all was. In his memories, the Dursleys had been a bit larger (and not just in size). He supposed his terror under them made them larger than real life in his mind. But now, all he saw were a broken woman and her son wracked with guilt.

The Dursleys he knew no longer existed.

...

As Harry was about to exit the building, he heard footsteps behind and turned around to see Dudley run up to him.

His cousin looked apprehensive as he asked, "You will visit, won't you?"

Harry hadn't been planning on it - he didn't feel the need to after that visit. However, Dudley's earnest expression changed his mind. "Sure. Any time you don't mind having me over, just write me a letter."

"What's your address?" Dudley asked, relaxing at the positive answer.

Harry chuckled before turning away. "Just address it to Harry Potter. It will get to me. Wizards and witches can be found everywhere. Even in the postal service."

…

The day he and Nicolas visited the graveyard was a wet day. It had been drizzling the entire day, and the dark skies made the visit even more depressing than it already was.

_Vernon Dursley. January 29, 1953 - October 23, 1988. Father. Husband._

Nicolas glanced at his student. "Do you feel sorry for him, Harry?"

"I don't know." Harry wasn't sure how he felt about his childhood tormentor at this point in time. His life under the man's roof seemed a lifetime ago. "Maybe it is best the way things turned out. I think Aunt Petunia and Dudley became better people because of it. Their circumstances are terrible, but I don't dislike the people they have become."

"There are two types of people in this world, Harry. There are people who suffer and suffer poorly. And then there are people who suffer but suffer well. The measure of strength and power is not how much or how fast one can break someone weaker - that is an easy task. Rather, the true measure is how much one can withstand suffering and not allow it to take over one's life."

Harry knew what Nicolas was suggesting.  _Your uncle could not withstand more than three months of the same torment he inflicted on you for years._ However, he didn't feel empowered or proud. "Don't they say power is supposed to taste sweet, Sir?" he remarked.

Nicolas chuckled. "They're not wrong per se. True power is quite sweet. However, the circumstances in which true power is brought forth often don't allow you to taste the sweetness. The sweetness lingers for a long time, long after the circumstances end, and that is when you can taste its sweetness." There was a silence before he asked, "Have you obtained your closure, Harry?"

Harry thought over his answer carefully, remember Dudley's surprising request and his equally surprising response. Willingly, he had kept the door between himself and the Dursleys open. "I don't think so, Sir. But I also think I'm okay with that."

…

"Hermione! Malfoy!"

"What's got you so excited?" Hermione asked when she saw Ron sprinting through the portrait hole towards them.

Draco didn't even bother looking up, "He probably found a Sickle somewhere."

Ron yanked the book out of Draco's hands.

"What the hell, Weasley?" Draco demanded, getting to his feet. "You better have a bloody good reason for doing that, or I will hex you. And unlike you, I know good ones!"

Ron's eyes shifted around the common room to make sure it was empty except for them. "The Philosopher's Stone is at Hogwarts!"

Draco stared before taking his book back. "In a past life, you must have been a court jester," he said, opening up the book to where he had left off.

"I'm not joking!" Ron insisted. "I was in detention with Filch, cleaning armor..."

"You make it sound as though we didn't know that. I was the one who reminded you, remember?" Draco drawled. "I was hoping it would take you longer, but I suppose hopes are meant to be dashed."

"...and Quirrell saw me..."

"Why is that so exciting?" Hermione asked. "You've never enjoyed his class."

"...and he felt bad for me so he let me in on a secret - you know the third floor corridor Dumbledore warned us about at the beginning of the year? The reason is because the Philosopher's Stone is in there! Dumbledore warned us against going there because he's testing us!"

"Testing for what?"

"Testing to see if anyone is brave and clever enough to go and make it through all of the obstacles guarding the Stone!" Ron looked back and forth between Hermione and Draco, who were both staring at him wide-eyed. "Don't you get it? The prize is the Stone!"

Hermione looked skeptical. "I don't know, Ron. Why would the Stone be here? It's Nicolas Flamel's, and he lives in France."

"According to Quirrell, Flamel's thinking it's time for him to move on, so he wants to pass the Stone on to someone worthy," Ron said. He paused before saying excitedly, "Think about it, Hermione! You can buy all of Flourish and Blotts! I can finally get my family a manor!"

Hermione's eyes shone. "That would be nice." She hesitated before saying, "And Professor Quirrell  _is_  a teacher. He wouldn't lie about something like this."

Ron turned to Draco but was surprised when the blond didn't look nearly as eager as he and Hermione did.

Draco was frowning. It didn't make any sense. Harry had said that he was Nicolas Flamel's student. If the man was to pass on the Stone to anyone, wouldn't the most logical choice be his student, since it didn't seem like he had any children?

"Well, Malfoy?" Ron pressed. "You in?"

Draco hesitated. "I want to hear what Harry thinks about this," he said uncertainly.

" _No._ "


	18. Harry and Draco

Draco narrowed his eyes. "And why shouldn't Harry know about this?" he demanded, indignant for his friend. "If this is a test, he'd be a good asset!"

Ron looked away, both guilt and determination shown clearly on his face. "Don't you see, Malfoy? This is our chance."

"Chance for what?" Draco folded his arms. "If you think for a second that I'm going to leave Harry in the dark about this -"

"Our chance to prove ourselves." Ron met Draco's gaze then, daring him to finish his words. "Think about it, Malfoy. Harry doesn't trust us because he thinks we're not competent enough to know his secrets. This is our chance to prove to him that we are. And not just to him. I want to prove myself to my family and to the school as well."

Draco remembered the Howler he received at the beginning of the year.  _Try not to disappoint us again._

"We can't prove ourselves if Harry comes along," Ron continued. "It would be fun if all of us could go on adventures together. But you know it, too, don't you? Harry could probably go through those obstacles blindfolded. And where would that leave us?"

Proving himself to his family, his best friend, and his school. Draco didn't care for the gold – after all, his family was already wealthy. He didn't care to live forever – there were only so many things to do in life after all. But he did want to be a son his family would be proud of and a friend his hero would appreciate having. He sighed. "Don't expect this too often, Weasley. This time, I'll come along although I doubt there is a Stone there, and if there is, it probably is fake. It's probably just a token for the victors to remember their success."

Ron nodded seriously. "Let's start making preparations then. We'll go to the third floor corridor in two months."

Draco smirked. "Better study up, Weasley. I don't want you holding us back. I know Granger can pull her own weight, but can you?"

Ron glared. "Just you wait, Malfoy. I'll leave you in the dust."

Hermione had been silent through this exchange. However, she couldn't help but feel that Harry wouldn't like what they were doing for their reasons alone. After all, he was the one who told her quite emphatically that she didn't have to show anyone her skills, that she didn't need to prove herself for the sake of proving herself. However, she wanted to believe that if they could succeed in their mission and not act  _too_  obnoxious about it, he would be willing to open up to them a bit more about his life.

(That, and she might get an unlimited supply of books out of the deal. Honestly, this was worth risking her life in her opinion.)

...

"Sir, would occlumency make me emotionless?" Harry asked worriedly at the end of Easter Break. "Or thoughtless?"

Nicolas chuckled. "Not at all, Harry. The point of occlumency is not to prevent yourself from feeling or thinking – clearing your mind is simply the first step. The point is control and discipline – you allow yourself to feel your emotions and think your thoughts  _when you want to by your will_ , not by the whims of your mind or the will of other people. I would argue that this gives you more freedom to express your emotions because you know you have full control over yourself. And so you do not have to worry about, say, losing your head in a moment of anger or fear. Occlumency is an art of discipline."

"What makes a Legilimens good, Sir?"

"Ah…the battle of the minds. Tell me, if an Occlumens tries to suppress certain thoughts, what do you think a Legilimens tries to do?"

"He would try to make him think."

"Precisely. I won't go into details right now because Occlumency and Legilimency are arts, and as such, each person has their own style. However, I will demonstrate to you how subtle a Legilimens can be. It will not always be an obvious wand flick and a verbal, ' _Legilimens!'_ It is quite helpful to learn Legilimency, since to be good at defense, one must have good knowledge of the offense." Nicolas gave Harry a solemn look. "By the end of your training, you will become a very accomplished Occlumens and Legilimens. They are powers you should not abuse. Legilimency on someone unwilling is the greatest breach of trust, and I'm afraid that doing so even once could end any good relationship."

"I understand, Sir."

"Good. Now with your permission, I will extract from you the password to my old friend's office. It's been a while since I visited him so it's likely no longer 'lemon drops'." Nicolas winked at him good-naturedly. "He only uses his favorites, so that narrows it down to anything not cockroach clusters."

Harry grinned before nodding his consent and clearing his mind.

...

Coming back to Hogwarts, Harry was disappointed to learn that it was more difficult than he thought to figure out what was going on with his friends. This was mainly due to them avoiding him – even Draco. Hermione had said that she was too busy studying for exams to practice flying. Ron said he was too busy to play chess, which confused Harry because Ron had never been too busy for chess. What had happened over Easter Break? Or maybe all this started even before break? He pondered what he had done wrong. He knew he wasn't the most relatable person his friends could ask for – he often didn't understand his friends and vice versa. Perhaps they had gotten tired of him? It wasn't a happy thought.

He resolved to try harder if they ever tell him what was wrong, but until then, he resigned himself to the fact that he lost his closest friends. To distract himself from the hurt, he threw himself into academia, Quidditch, and Nicolas's lessons.

It was also discouraging that finding the unicorn's killer turned out to be a lot harder than he had originally anticipated. Mainly because the scent was  _everywhere_  in Hogwarts, trails looping on trails, sometimes groups of people having a similar scent. According to Sasha, it was as though everyone at some point had doused themselves in unicorn-killer-scent. They didn't necessarily have quite the same scent, since each person had a unique smell. However, the mixing confused her as she kept thinking the killer was amidst a group of people when he probably wasn't.

And so Harry had quite a lonely and frustrating spring. Exams came and passed. The homework eased up, and he was able to focus the rest of his time on Quidditch, to Oliver's delight, and Occlumency and Legilimency.

...

"I really hate this," Hermione said. "Leaving Harry out of our plans."

"You're not the only one," Draco grouched. He had caught glimpses of Harry over the last few weeks, and each time, his friend looked so lonely that he was tempted to forgo the plan to spend time with him instead. It wasn't as though Harry lacked people to hang out with – Neville often asked for help on homework, and the Weasley twins hung out with him frequently - but Draco knew, simply by virtue of their relationship, that Harry was hurt and confused.

Ron wasn't any happier about the situation, but he tried to keep their resolve up. "I know this isn't great, but Harry can read us like open books. He'd figure something was up in a heartbeat if we spend time with him. Just a few more days, and then we can tell him everything. And then, just think about it, he'll actually think of us as friends."

Hermione's shoulders slumped. "I don't really feel like his friend right now," she said quietly.

Draco couldn't agree with her more.

Ron looked down, wondering if he was making a mistake. Was hurting Harry like this worth it?

...

"Why the long face, Harry?"

Harry shrugged, looking down at his feet. "My friends are angry at me, and I don't know why," he said. "I can't even try to figure it out because they won't talk to me."

Nicolas frowned. "That's quite odd. You're not a very offensive person, Harry." Seeing his student still looking miserable, he placed a hand on his shoulder. "I have an idea that will cheer you up, if only slightly."

"What, Sir?" Harry asked, curious.

Nicolas pulled him over to what appeared to be a metal bowl with water inside.

Harry blinked, confused. "A bowl of water?"

Nicolas chuckled. "Reach inside."

Harry put his hand into the water and was surprised to find the bowl deeper than it looked. He was up to his upper arm before he felt something hard and slightly jagged.

"Pull it out."

Harry grabbed the object and pulled out a blood red stone, his arm remaining dry. "The Philosopher's Stone," he breathed.

"That's correct. Soon it will be yours. Best not to have more than one Stone floating around, even if you will know how to create it." Nicolas smiled, his eyes shining. "Moreover, I'll let you in on a secret. At Hogwarts, a fake copy of this Stone is under guard. Why don't we take a little field trip? I'm sure Albus wouldn't mind you seeing the defensive brilliance of your teachers, especially now that you have a solid grasp of the basics of Occlumency."

Harry's eyes brightened. "That sounds great, Sir!"

...

"You guys ready?" Ron asked, nervous but excited for an adventure. It felt like forever for Harry to go to sleep – his friend had ridiculous stamina.

Hermione was reviewing her notes for the fifteenth time that day. "I wonder if the challenges will involve sphinxes or werewolves," she muttered worriedly. "We won't cover those until third or fourth year!"

"I doubt they'll want to taste your blood," Draco said. "I'm the one who has to worry."

"What do you have against muggleborns anyway, Malfoy? I thought you're over all that," Ron growled.

Draco was taken aback. "I didn't say I have anything against them. I was trying to be nice if you haven't noticed. If we get attacked by werewolves, they'll be less likely to go after her. Not when there's a tasty pureblood nearby."

"Leave it to you to be insulting even when you're looking out for the welfare of others…"

"Okay, let's go," Hermione interrupted Ron, picking up her bag of supplies she thought would be useful on their endeavor. "And next time you mention my blood again, Malfoy, I'll hex you."

Draco crossed his arms before muttering to himself crossly, "Harry tells me to be nicer. I try to be nicer. Everyone else yells at me. Fuck Harry's advice."

And with that, they all marched off through the portrait hole towards the third floor corridor, unaware of a pair of black, pupiless eyes watching and following them curiously.

...

" _Alohomora."_

As they entered the chamber, they froze at the sight of the enormous three-headed dog in front of them.

Ron was the first to speak, whimpering, "Bloody hell…"

"It's sleeping," Hermione breathed. "Nothing to worry about. Nothing at all…There's a trap door here…"

Draco swallowed and helped them push the paw off the trapdoor to open it. So this was what the tests were like. Certainly it tried their bravery – the dog was terrifying even if it was asleep. Peering into the darkness, he pulled out his wand.  _"Lumos."_ His eyes caught some movement, but he thought it was just his imagination.

"It doesn't look that far down," Ron said. "And it looks kinda soft actually." Then he said bravely, "I'll go first."

"Be careful," Hermione fretted. "And if something happens, yell, and we'll try to get you back up – I have some rope in my bag. You remember the Knockback Jinx in case something chases you, right?"

Ron nodded. "Yeah.  _Flipendo._ " After taking a deep breath and checking to make sure Hermione and Draco had their wands out to cover him, he jumped through the door. Landing on something soft and springy, he waited for a few seconds before calling up, "It seems safe." As soon as he said that, he could see Draco's and Hermione's forms jump through the hole and land next to him.

Draco squinted in the dark. The hairs on the back of his neck were rising, but he couldn't figure out why.

Hermione, however, had leapt up and struggled towards the damp wall, managing to free herself from the snakelike tendrils before they had too firm of a grip on her. Turning around, she was horrified to see Draco and Ron both bound tightly without their noticing.

Ron finally realized his situation and began to panic, fighting to get the plant off him.

Draco on the other hand had the complete opposite reaction. In his terror, he froze. However, the only difference that made was that the plant was slower to wrap around him. Was he going to die? No, no, Dumbledore wouldn't create tests that could possibly kill the participating students. Would he? Draco felt something wrap around his neck. "Granger, do something!"

Hermione wringed her hands. "This is the Devil's Snare. Ron, stop moving so much! It will kill you faster if you don't stop! Devil's Snare, Devil's Snare…"

"Hermione!" Ron cried out desperately as it wrapped around his head, effectively gagging him.

Shaking, she panicked out loud, speaking in a jumble of words, "Light…warmth…Devil's Snare hates light and warmth…fire…but there's no wood…"

Draco couldn't believe it. He was going to die because some muggleborn conveniently forgot that she was a witch. " _Incendio,_ " he choked out to her as he felt his vision blacking out.

"R-right," she stammered as she pulled out her wand. "I'm an idiot.  _Incendio!_ "

Draco felt his vision clearing as the plant retreated from him. Gasping for the sweet, sweet air, he turned to Hermione. "Wood?  _Wood?_ " he panted. "We almost got strangled to death, and you forgot the piece of wood in your pocket?"

Hermione looked down, her arms loose at her sides. "Sorry, I-I wasn't thinking…"

"Give her a break, Malfoy," Ron said. "She panicked – anyone would in her situation."

Draco took deep breaths to calm himself before saying awkwardly, "But that was a nice bit of magic. The fire, I mean. It, uh, was well controlled – it didn't roast me alive or anything."

Hermione looked like she was struggling to hold in tears.

"Uh, let's continue?" Ron said uncomfortably.

None of them moved.

Draco had never been good at comforting people. In fact, if he was being honest with himself, he was quite bad at it. Normally, that wasn't really an issue since normally, he didn't care about others' feelings and normally, others didn't think too much of his words. So everything worked out. But now, because of the high tension, harsh words were sharpened, and skins were thinned. Remembering how determined Harry was to make sure Hermione was okay, he sighed. Being nice really wasn't his forte. "I panicked when Harry's broom went out of control," he began. "I find remembering things he tells me helps. Or imagining him talking in my head since he normally gives good advice. It might help you, too, next time you panic."

Hermione stared at him.

Ron's mouth fell open.

"What?" Draco asked defensively. "Despite what you think, I wasn't trying to be insulting that time."

Ron shook his head before walking off, still shocked with disbelief. He had been dubious when Harry told him how he saw Draco. But just then, he thought he had a glimpse of the Draco Malfoy that Harry knew.

Draco glanced at Hermione and was relieved to see that she no longer looked as though someone burned all of her books. Satisfied with himself, he strutted ahead of Ron, not too pleased with following him. The stone passageway sloped downwards and led to a bright chamber with very high ceilings. "Well, this is a bit more welcoming."

Ron ran to the other side of the chamber where he tried unsuccessfully to open a large, old-fashioned wooden door. "Should have known it wouldn't be this easy. Even the Unlocking Charm won't work."

"Look up," Hermione breathed.

As the boys looked up, they saw hundreds of glittering winged keys. They also noticed a broom in a corner of the chamber.

"Dumbledore's lost his marbles," Ron said.

Draco smirked. "Scared of a bit of flying, Weasley? I thought you've flown before."

Ron glared at him. "You want to spend hours in here trying to find the right key?"

"You two are forgetting something worse," Hermione said. "Considering the last two tests, this one no doubt has a dangerous aspect to it. Maybe arrows will fly out of the walls…"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Arrows? Is that what muggles use? Who are they trying to imitate? Centaurs?"

"Well, that's what they show in movies…"

Draco rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "They're more primitive than I thought. Quite worthy of our pity."

Seeing Hermione about to go off on the loose-mouthed blond, Ron said quickly before they got sidetracked, "So who wants to be the one possibly getting shot at with arrows?"

Hermione shifted guiltily. "I'm a bit clumsy on brooms…"

Before Ron could volunteer, Draco gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, considering I'm probably the only decent flyer here, I volunteer as tribute."

"I'm decent!"

"Decent enough to fly into an arrow, I'm sure," Draco said as he stepped towards the broom. "I'm gonna throw a key at you, so don't stand there amazed at my prowess for too long."

"LIKE THAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN, MALFOY!"

Draco took a deep breath and grabbed the handle of the broom, mounting it. He had dreamed of being a star Quidditch player ever since he learned what the game was. This test was his.

"MALFOY, LOOK OUT!"

...

Sasha couldn't recall her master's female friend ever leaving their common room after curfew. From what he told her, the girl was diligent about following the rules to the letter. So when she and the others made to leave after curfew, the snake's curiosity got the best of her, and she followed, even though she had just gotten back from exploring the castle and was quite comfortable warming herself by the fire.

It was a long journey out of Gryffindor Tower, and she started regretting following them when they went down several moving staircases. She hated those blasted things – thanks to them, it took her 3-4 times longer to reach her destinations than strictly necessary.  _This is why birds and snakes don't mix. Rowena Ravenclaw must be as practical as a pidgeon_ , she grumbled to herself irritably as she followed them down the Charms Corridor. It was going to take her forever to return to the warmth of that nice fire…

Sasha stopped mid-mental-complaint when they turned the corner. Was she seeing things? They couldn't be… Slithering at full speed to try to catch up to them, she caught sight of the door to the three-headed dog closing after them. When her shock subsided at what she had just witnessed, she rushed back to Gryffindor Tower as quickly as she could. She doubted they were still alive, but her master needed to know.

As the staircases moved to hinder her, Sasha made a note to herself to murder Rowena Ravenclaw in the afterlife.

_..._

Draco looked up, his eyes wide when the keys all flew in a swarm at him, like large angry wasps. Cursing colorfully, he flew away just in time, several keys hitting the stone floor with a loud clang that made it clear he had barely missed being fixed to the floor in the most painful manner.

"Stay still, Malfoy! I'll blast those keys out of the air!" Ron said, pulling out his wand.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND, WEASLEY? I'LL BE DEAD BEFORE YOU GET A SPELL OUT!"

Hermione grabbed Ron's wrist. "He's right! There are too many keys, and they're too small for you to aim at!"

"Well then, what are we going to do? Malfoy's about to get nailed with several hundred keys!"

Draco winced as a key cut open his cheek.

_"What do you want to be when you graduate from Hogwarts?"_

_"Father wants me to get a high position in the Ministry. A position with a lot of power."_

_"Is that what you want?"_

_"Not really…I want to be a Quidditch player. And I thought I would be good enough, too, before coming to Hogwarts."_

_"What made you change your mind?"_

_"Seeing you fly."_

_"What does seeing me fly have to do with you becoming good enough to be a Quidditch player?"_

_"..."_

_"Come by the Quidditch Pitch after the Gryffindors' evening practice."_

_"What? Why?"_

_"I'll show you the Wronski Feint."_

_"Harry, I'm not suicidal."_

_"Trust me. I've figured out a way to practice it safely."_

Draco turned his broom into a vertical dive. When Harry showed him how to perform the Wronski Feint, they had practiced with a levitated pillow as the "ground." That way, if Draco turned too late, he would hit the pillow with plenty of clearance above the ground to not get hurt. However, he had never done this with the real ground before. It was a risk he had to take. Pulling out of the dive just in time, he heard to his satisfaction several keys smacking into the stone floor.

Hermione's eyes widened. She had watched Harry fly too often for her to not recognize the move. "Was that…?"

Ron was gawking beside her. Draco hadn't exaggerated. He was very good.

Draco turned around to see the damage, and to his horror, the keys that smacked the ground simply fluttered up, seemingly dazed, before coming after him once again.

"What do we do?" Ron asked, panicking.

Hermione felt her mental state mirroring Ron's and willed herself to follow Draco's advice. If Harry was there, what would he do?  _Those keys are sharp...The keys need something to get stuck to...Wood is softer than stone..._

"Malfoy!" she yelled.

"What? Can't you see I'm a bit preoccupied right now?" Draco yelled back, hissing as another key slashed open his hand.

"Do that move again. But fly at the door!"

"What?"

"Just trust me, and do it!"

Draco pulled the broom horizontally near ground level and then accelerated towards the wooden door. At the last second, he pulled up, causing several dozen keys to hit and get embedded in the wood.

Grinning happily at the success of her idea, Hermione motioned to Ron to help her pull the keys out one by one. Each one they pulled out, they pulled off its wings before trying it in the keyhole. Without their wings, the keys no longer posed a danger. "Okay, Malfoy, do it again!"

And the process was repeated until on the sixty-seventh key, the lock clicked open.

"We got it!" Ron called up to Draco, who was still busy trying to keep away from the attacking keys.

Draco flew towards the opened door, and as he flew through it, Ron and Hermione shut the door behind him, wincing at the sounds of the keys embedding themselves into the door. Panting, he got off the broom and sat down against the wall.

"You alright, Malfoy?" Ron asked, concerned.

Draco managed a smirk. "Of course. Are you actually worried about me, Weasley?"

"Malfoy, you're bleeding!"

Draco looked down. The back of his hands were slashed open, and now that he was coming down from his adrenaline rush, he could feel a cut at the back of his neck. He was probably injured in other places, too. Feeling sick at the sight of blood, he turned away.

Hermione knelt down and dug around in her bag. "I packed some dittany in case we get injured along the way." She handed him a small bottle.

Draco tried to apply the substance, but his hands trembled too much from his nausea. "Here, take it back. I don't need it," he muttered, flushing.

"You look a bit shaken. Are you sure you're alright?" Ron asked again.

"I'm fine! How thick are you that I have to repeat myself?" Draco snapped. "Why don't you worry about your own arse, you useless -"

"Alright, alright!" Ron glared at him, furious. "I don't understand how Harry puts up with you! Even when people are concerned for you, you act like a total arse! Maybe this is why he doesn't tell you things! Maybe he's sick of you acting like -"

"Stop it! Both of you!" Hermione cut Ron off, looking worriedly between the two boys.

Draco's pale skin had grown paler over the course of Ron's rant, and he was shaking in rage. His hand was on his wand, and he was ready to curse Ron, screw their mission. But something stayed his hand. Draco didn't understand how Harry put up with people either, including himself. He had insulted his blood status and acted like a total brat around him sometimes, he had to admit. But his friend was nothing but patient – in fact, Harry often went out of his way to please him, no matter how ridiculous Draco was acting. (Sometimes Draco threw fits on purpose just to see Harry's reaction and to see if he couldn't get a rise out of the other - no such luck.)

He had always thought the Weasleys should be below his and Harry's notice, but Ron's words brought up a point that he never considered, never wanted to consider. Perhaps he should be below Harry's notice as well. That realization, though unpleasant, calmed him faster than he thought possible. If Harry could be patient with Draco as unpleasant as he could be, then it would be fitting for Draco to keep his temper in check with Ron.

Draco turned away – if he looked at the weasel's face for too long, he might lose what little self-control he had. "I don't like the sight of blood," he muttered. "Happy, Weasley?" He wondered if Harry had this much difficulty remaining patient every time he ranted at him. The thought didn't make him feel any better, and he worried for not the first time what Harry really thought of him. Was he sick of him? He'd be sick of his own company.

Ron stared. He had expected them to duel it out (or beat each other to a pulp) before they could continue on.

Hermione was equally surprised. Draco was the last person she'd expect to rein in his temper and reveal what he no doubt considered a weakness to pacify Ron's temper. Shaking herself out of her shock, she took the bottle from him and began applying the substance to his wounds herself. "Why didn't you just say so?" she chided softly.

Draco relaxed as his wounds quickly closed and the bleeding stopped.

"Hey, Malfoy?"

"What, Weasley?"

Ron squirmed at the cool tone. "I didn't mean what I said, you know. You're, er, not that bad."

Deciding not to answer, Draco stood up and continued down to the next chamber, deep in his thoughts about his relationship with Harry. It was starting to make him question every other relationship he had. Did his parents find him just as distasteful? He did brush off his mother when she was only concerned for him…

The next chamber was a gigantic chess set. The pieces on their side were carved out of black stone and were larger than they were. On the other side were pieces carved out of white marble.

"I think we're going to have to be chessmen," Ron said, after receiving confirmation from one of the pieces. He felt a spark of excitement. The last two tasks, he had been rather unhelpful. But here, this was his forte.

Draco looked wearily at the board. He was in no mental condition to play. He was going to have to trust Ron to play well here. "Don't kill me off too early," he muttered.

Ron smiled wryly. "I'll try not to."

Draco went up to the bishop and drawled, "Well, you big lump of rock? Move."

Ron almost laughed before taking the knight's spot. Almost. Was the stress starting to addle his brains? He was starting to find Draco Malfoy funny.

...

When Sasha reached the portrait hole, the Fat Lady yawned. "Password?"

Sasha had never been so glad that her master had had the foresight of solving her password problem. Remembering the pattern he had shown her on parchment, she twisted herself into loopy characters, spelling out  _P-I-G-S-N-O-U-T._

The Fat Lady sighed, swinging open. "Good enough. Do you have to do this so late? I know you're not subject to curfew, but honestly!"

Sasha rushed up the stairway to the dormitories.

_My lord, wake up!_

Harry groaned as his familiar nudged him awake.  _"Sasha…it's not even dawn yet_."

_Your friends have gone to the third floor corridor!_

Harry's eyes snapped open.  _"What?"_

_They were acting strange so I followed them and saw them enter the third floor corridor!_

Harry threw his covers off and stumbled to his feet, all traces of sleep gone. Pulling off his pajamas and throwing on his robes, he ran out the portrait hole ("Is curfew waived today? What's with people coming and leaving so late at night?"), rushing to the third floor corridor with Sasha at his heels. "Aurora! Get Dumbledore!"  _What were they thinking?_


End file.
